FOUR,*  ROADS 


MAUD-WILDER-GOODWIN 


FOUR  ROADS  TO 
PARADISE 


"  'GIVE    YOU    BACK   MY  MYSTEKIOUS    LETTER?      OH,  IMPOSSIBLE!'  " 


FOUR   ROADS 
TO  PARADISE 

BY 

MAUD  WILDER  GOODWIN 

Aotkar  of  "Sir  Chrirtopher,"  "  Ffi»t,"   "  Wfeite 
,"  "The  Head  of  a  Hundred,"  etc. 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS 
BY  ARTHUR  I.  KELLER 


NEW   YORK 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,  1903,  1904,  by 
THE  CENTURY  Co. 


Publiibed  April,  1904 


Reprinted  June,  1904,  July,  1904, 
August,  1904,  October,  1904 


TO 

F.  W. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 


i  A  MODERN  KNIGHT  OF  THE  GRAIL  .     .       3 

n  THE  FOUR  ROADS 17 

in  ANNE  BLYTHE 31 

IT  THE  BEGINNING  OF  WISDOM    ....     50 

r  OUTWARD  BOUND 65 

n  A  TRUST 83 

TII  MAXWELL  NEWTON 103 

mi  THREE  LETTERS 122 

ix  UP  AT  THE  VILLA 137 

x  IN  WHICH  WALFORD  LEARNS  .     .     .     .154 

xi  FINE  ARTS 176 

xii  "ONE  BEHELD  AND  DIED"       .     .     .     .196 

xiii  THE  COMING  SHADOW 217 

xrr  "ONE  DESTROYED  THE  YOUNG  PLANT*  "  232 

XT  ON  THE  TERRACE 247 

XTI  AT  SANTA  CROCE 262 

XTII  How  IT  HAPPENED 277 

XTIII  WHAT  THE  BISHOP  SAID 291 

xix  His  HEART'S  DESIRE 307 

xx  THI  MOTING  FINGER 324 

xxi  IL  PARADISINO 337 

•K 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 

PACK 

"  Give  you  back  my  mysterious  letter  ?   Oh,  im- 
possible ! " Frontispiece 

"  Yes,  yes,"  Walford  answered,  "  I  do   see.     I 

understand  perfectly  " 39 

"  Anne,"  broke  in  the   Bishop's  voice,  "  I  want 

you  to  know  Lady  Hawtree  Campbell"    .     .      77 

"  No  !  "  thundered  Yates,  bringing  his  hand  down 

hard 173 

"  Would  you  count  it  presumption  if  I  thrust  my 

life-problem  upon  you  ?" 21 1 

"  We  will  be  sorry  together  " 333 


FOUR    ROADS   TO 
PARADISE 


PROLOGUE 

"  Four  men,"  says  the  Talmud,  "  en- 
tered paradise :  one  beheld  and  died,  one 
lost  his  senses,  one  destroyed  the  young 
plants,  one  only  entered  in  peace." 


FOUR  ROADS  TO 
PARADISE 


A    MODERN    KNIGHT    OF    THE    GRAIL 

"  The  way  is  long,  my  children,  long  and  rough, 
The  moon  are  dreary,  and  the  woods  are  dark  ; 
But  he  that  creeps  from  cradle  on  to  grave, 
Unskilled  sare  in  the  velvet  course  of  fortune, 
Hath  misted  the  discipline  of  noble  hearts." 

"A  GENTLEMAN  to  see  me  ?  A  gentleman, 
JT\.  did  you  say,  Parkins  *?  " 

"  Y-yes,  sir.  That  is,  he  looked  to  be — one 
of  the  clergy,  I  think,  sir." 

"  Did  he  give  you  his  name  ?  " 

"  No,  sir.     He  said  you  'd  not  know  him." 

"  Show  him  up." 

The  black-beetle  butler  closed  the  door,  and 
the  Bishop  reluctantly  pushed  aside  a  pile  of 
manuscript  on  which  he  had  been  working.  It 
was  irritating  to  be  interrupted  at  the  climax  of 
a  peroration ;  but  the  thread  of  continuance  once 


4      FOUR  ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

broken,  there  was  no  use  in  resuming  work  till 
the  interruption  was  disposed  of  finally.  There- 
fore the  Bishop  deliberately  uncoiled  his  attention. 
First  he  fixed  his  eyes  upon  the  ring  on  his  finger, 
then  he  took  a  leisurely  look  up  and  down  the 
avenue  which  ran  before  his  window  as  straight 
and  uninteresting  as  a  strip  of  tape.  Finally  he 
turned  his  gaze  on  the  flame  of  gas  which  leaped 
and  fluttered  from  the  artificial  log  in  the  fire- 
place. It  was  seldom  that  he  allowed  himself 
to  look  at  that  log,  which  was  an  offense  to  his 
esthetic  eye,  and  was  tolerated  only  for  its  unques- 
tioned convenience. 

Bishop  Alston's  mien  and  bearing  suggested 
not  so  much  the  army  of  the  Lord  as  His  diplo- 
matic service.  Nature  and  time  had  drawn  their 
tonsure  round  the  Bishop's  crown,  and  a  silver 
fringe  fell  over  his  forehead.  The  eyes  beneath 
looked  out  small  and  gray  from  between  narrowed 
eyelids;  but  their  sharpness  was  mitigated  by 
benevolent  crow's-feet  at  the  corners  of  the  lids. 
The  ears,  bent  slightly  forward,  were  adapted  to 
catching  secrets,  and  the  close-shut  mouth  to 
keeping  guard  over  them.  The  figure  was  wide 
at  the  waist,  to  the  point  of  straining  the  waist- 
coat buttons,  and  told  of  one  not  unfamiliar  with 
flesh-pots. 

"  Come  in ! " 


A  KNIGHT  OF  THE  GRAIL        5 

This  in  answer  to  a  second  knock,  for  the 
Bishop's  thoughts  had  wandered  too  far  afield  to 
respond  to  the  first  summons  from  the  outer 
world. 

In  answer  to  the  call,  Parkins  ushered  in  a 
young  man  who  stood  crushing  his  soft  hat  ner- 
vously, evidently  hesitating  on  the  threshold,  in 
spite  of  the  invitation  to  enter. 

The  Bishop  rose,  looked  at  the  newcomer 
from  over  his  gold-bowed  spectacles,  and  re- 
peated : 

"  Come  in,  Mr. —  f  " 

"  Walford  —  Stuart  Walford." 

There  was  a  slight  pause  in  which  the  Bishop 
strove  to  classify  the  name  in  order  to  fit  it  with 
social  urbanity  or  episcopal  benevolence.  Evi- 
dently he  decided  on  the  latter,  for  there  was  a 
jingle  of  Peter's  keys  in  his  voice  as  he  re- 
sponded : 

"  And  how  can  I  be  of  service  to  you  ?  " 

"  By  your  counsel,  Bishop.  I  have  no  personal 
claim  to  urge  as  an  excuse  for  taking  up  your 
valuable  time;  but  my  grandfather,  Archibald 
Stuart — "  Here  he  drew  out  a  note  of  intro- 
duction, which  Bishop  Alston  took  to  the  window 
and  read. 

"  Ah ! "  murmured  the  Bishop,  adding  a  shade 
of  warmth  to  his  manner  as  he  felt  the  social  clue 


6      FOUR  ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

drop  into  his  fingers.  "  So  Archibald  Stuart  is 
your  grandfather!  We  were  boys  together  in 
the  Old  Dominion.  I  knew  him  well,  and  liked 
him  as  well  as  I  knew  him ;  but  in  some  way  we 
managed  to  lose  each  other :  people  are  so  easily 
lost  here  at  the  West  —  a  dip  in  the  prairie,  and 
they  are  gone  from  sight  for  years.  Archie  Stuart 
a  grandfather !  How  time  flies !  But  reminis- 
cence makes  us  old  fellows  tedious.  Your  grand- 
father's name  is  a  talisman.  Let  me  ask  you 
again  how  I  can  serve  you,  and  of  what  counsel 
you  stand  in  need." 

"  I  wish  to  consult  you  about  a  course  of 
action  that  I  have  set  my  heart  on." 

"  Is  it  advice  or  approval  that  you  wish  ?  " 
The  youth  winced,  and  the  Bishop  noted  it. 
"Pardon  me,  Mr.  er-er  —  Mr.  Walford — " 
Bishop  Alston  spoke  with  that  hesitating  "  er  " 
which  Providence  bestows  on  dignitaries  to  en- 
able  them    to   deliberate   without  a  full  stop : 
"  Pardon  me,  but  we  shall  get  on  faster  if  you 
tell  me  quite  frankly  at  the  outset  whether  you 
have  definitely  resolved  to  carry  out  this  course 
of  which  you  speak,  or  whether  you  really  intend 
to  be  swayed  by  my  possible  disapproval." 

"  I  think  it  is  your  consecration  more  than 
your  approval  I  am  seeking."  Unconsciously 
the  young  man  fingered  a  black  cross  hanging 


A   KNIGHT   OF   THE  GRAIL        7 

above  the  clerical  waistcoat.  "  I  desire,"  he 
rushed  on  breathlessly,  "  to  dedicate  my  life  to 
the  service  of  the  lepers  at  Molokai.  Damien  is 
dead.  There  is  need  of  more  workers  like  him." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Bishop,  with  barely  perceptible 
emphasis,  "  more  workers  like  him." 

"  But  why  should  not  the  Anglican  Church 
send  forth  men  as  brave  as  he  —  as  willing  to 
renounce  self  and  follow  the  cross  ?  " 

"  Self-love,"  said  the  Bishop,  "has  many  forms. 
One  of  them  is  altruism." 

\Valford  bit  his  lip. 

"  Oh,"  he  cried  impatiently,  "do  not  trifle  with 
me  !  It  may  be  that  I  am  unworthy ;  but  go  I 
must.  By  day  and  by  night  I  can  see  nothing  but 
those  poor  wretches,  dying  there  by  inches,  shut 
in  by  a  precipice  on  one  side  and  the  sea  on  the 
other.  In  a  beautiful  spot  *?  Yes,  but  what,  in 
God's  name,  can  that  matter  to  them,  cooped  up, 
driven  from  all  human  companionship,  forgotten 
by  their  friends,  living  in  a  dull  loathing  of  one 
another!  Would  it  not  be  a  glorious  mission 
to  carry  even  a  gleam  of  light  and  hope  to  these 
outcasts,  and,  if  one  must  die  a  leper,  to  die  a 
martyr  too,  and  a  martyr  to  such  a  cause  *? " 

The  Bishop  answered  nothing.  He  was  not  fol- 
lowing Walford's  impassioned  plea  very  closely. 
The  words  of  the  old  prophe*  rose  to  his  mind : 


8        FOUR  ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

"Weep  ye  not  for  the  dead  .  .  .  :  but  weep  sore 
for  him  that  goeth  away ;  for  he  shall  return  no 
more,  nor  see  his  native  country." 

Inadvertently  his  thought  found  its  way  to  his 
lips: 

"  What  a  sacrifice ! " 

"A  sacrifice?  Yes;  but  one  I  am  willing, 
yes,  eager,  to  make.  I  have  counted  the  cost." 

"  Where  is  your  home  ? "  was  the  Bishop's 
somewhat  unexpected  question. 

"  In  Alkali." 

"  You  have  always  lived  there  *?  " 

"  No ;  I  was  born  at  Painted  Rock,  Arizona, 
near  the  Gila  River  and  the  Maricopa  Divide." 

"  You  have  traveled  *?  " 

"  Twice  a  year  from  Alkali  to  Tucson,  and  of 
course  back  and  forth  from  the  seminary." 

If  the  Bishop  smiled  it  was  imperceptible — a 
mere  twitching  of  the  muscles  about  the  mouth, 
instantly  suppressed. 

"  You  know  nothing  of  Europe,  then  —  have 
never  seen  either  Paris  or  London,  eh  ?  " 

"  Never." 

"  Nor  even  New  York  ?  " 

"  Nor  even  New  York." 

"  Then  —  pardon  me,  but  you  have  not  counted 
the  cost.  You  are  willing  to  give  up  a  life  which 
you  have  never  lived,  that  is,  never  tasted  in  its 


A   KNIGHT   OF   THE  GRAIL        9 

plenitude  and  power.  You  have  lived  among 
your  inferiors.  I  am  not  a  clairvoyant,  but  I  can 
read  your  face,  and  I  know  the  town  where  you 
live.  All  your  spiritual  nourishment  is  drawn 
from  books.  Of  men,  men  as  good  as  you  mor- 
ally, better  than  you  intellectually,  you  know 
nothing." 

"  Do  I  need  to  know  more  than  Jesus  Christ, 
and  Him  crucified?" 

Walford's  eye  kindled  as  though  some  pres- 
ence were  palpable  before  him. 

The  Bishop  temporized. 

"  Archie  Stuart's  grandson ! "  he  exclaimed,  as 
if  memory  had  drifted  in  like  a  fog,  obscuring 
the  present  crisis. 

The  visitor  tapped  on  the  under  side  of  the 
chair  with  restless  finger-ends.  At  last  he  burst 
out  afresh :  "  I  am  ready  to  give  myself  wholly, 
utterly  to  the  Master's  service.  Can  I  do  more  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  How  ?  " 

"  By  having  more  to  give." 

"I  —  I  don't  think  I  understand  you." 

"  Perhaps  not.  What  I  mean  is  this :  You 
owe  it  to  God  to  be  first  of  all  as  much 
of  a  man  as  it  lies  in  you  to  be,  and  after 
that  to  consecrate  your  full  powers  to  the  high- 
est good  as  you  see  the  highest  good.  You  can- 


10      FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

not  tell  —  no  man  of  twenty-five  or  less  can  tell 
where  his  mission  lies,  and  many  bring  discredit 
on  the  Master's  service  by  setting  themselves 
tasks  beyond  their  strength,  and  failing  ignomini- 
ously  where  they  might  have  carried  through  a 
smaller  undertaking,  if  they  had  but  gaged  their 
powers  rightly." 

"  Ah,  it  is  my  strength  you  doubt ! " 

"  Pardon  me  again,"  answered  the  Bishop,  in 
his  gentle,  first-aid-to-the-injured  manner.  "  I 
know  you  so  little  I  can  in  no  wise  estimate  you 
individually;  but  I  have  known  many  young 
men  of  about  your  age,  and  never  one  whom  I 
thought  justified  in  making  a  momentous  decision 
by  which  his  whole  after  life  must  be  bound." 

"  Yet  young  men  marry." 

"  Yes,  more  's  the  pity  —  too  young,  most  of 
them.  But,  after  all,  that  falls  in  with  nature's 
plan.  You  are  working  at  cross-purposes  with 
nature.  Oh,  I  do  not  forget  the  noble  army  of 
martyrs,  and  St.  Sebastian,  with  his  boy's  body 
pierced  and  bleeding.  You  would  face  martyr- 
dom stanchly  —  I  read  that  in  your  eye ;  but 
what  you  purpose  is  something  far  harder  —  a 
renunciation  of  life  and  all  that  makes  it  worth 
while,  not  once  for  all,  to  awake  in  bliss  to  ever- 
lasting rewards,  but  day  after  day  shut  off  from 
all  the  dear,  familiar  sights  and  sounds." 


A   KNIGHT   OF   THE  GRAIL      11 

"  Yet  He  has  promised  to  be  with  those  vrho 
go  forth  in  His  name  — " 

The  Bishop  looked  keenly  at  the  flushed 
cheek,  and  the  broad  brow  from  which  the  hair 
had  been  shaken  in  an  impatient  tangle.  Twice 
he  half  stretched  out  the  fingers  of  benediction; 
then  he  drew  them  back  and  laid  his  hand  on  a 
letter,  the  second  in  a  pile  at  the  end  of  his  desk. 

"  Come,"  he  said  in  his  gentlest  tones,  "  you 
know  the  Knights  of  the  Grail  served  their  novi- 
tiate before  they  were  found  worthy  of  the  sacred 
quest.  Now  I  ask  of  you  a  like  period  of  proba- 
tion. I  have  here  a  letter  from  a  rector,  a  friend 
of  mine  at  the  East.  He  fills  the  pulpit  of  St. 
Simeon  Stylites  in  New  York,  and  he  writes  that 
he  is  overworked  and  is  seeking  an  assistant.  He 
wants  a  Western  man,  a  man  conspicuous  in 
energy  and  organizing  power,  and  asks  if  I  can 
suggest  any  one.  He  speaks  of  haste.  Here  is 
your  opportunity  —  will  you  go  ?  " 

The  Bishop  turned  the  ring  on  his  finger  as  i£ 
like  Solomon's,  it  could  compel  the  truth  from 
him  whose  eyes  fell  upon  it. 

The  young  man  stared  first  at  the  ring  ab- 
sently, then  at  the  wearer  keenly.  He  too  was 
weighing  motives. 

"  I  will  go,"  he  said ;  "  but  first  will  you  ac- 
cept my  vows  ?  " 


12      FOUR  ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

"No,  no;  you  are  neither  strong  enough  nor 
weak  enough  for  vows.  Make  what  resolutions 
you  choose." 

"  Resolutions  !     Ah,  those  are  weak  ! " 

"  Only  when  they  are  weakly  made.  If  hell 
is  paved  with  resolutions,  heaven  is  vaulted  with 
them."  This  sentiment  struck  the  Bishop  as 
rather  good,  and  while  he  was  uttering  it  he  de- 
termined to  use  it  in  his  sermon.  It  might  prove 
worth  the  interruption.  "  If,"  he  continued,  "  at 
the  end  of  eighteen  months  you  are  sure  of  your- 
self, come  back,  and  I  will  receive  your  vows. 
More  than  that  —  I  will  help  you  forward  on  the 
glorious  path  which  you  have  chosen." 

Walford  looked  his  gratitude.  He  could  not 
trust  himself  to  speak. 

"  Let  me  see,"  said  the  Bishop.  "  This  is 
November;  how  soon  could  you  make  your 
arrangements  to  start  for  New  York  *?  " 

"  To-morrow." 

"  Good !  I  like  promptness.  And  have  you 
any  money  for  the  journey  *?  " 

"  I  have  enough  for  everything." 

"  Good  again ! " 

The  Bishop  had  a  dawning  fear  that  he  might 
have  rushed  into  too  impulsive  a  confidence  in 
this  fiery  young  disciple.  The  sense  of  financial 
backing  gave  solidity  to  aspiration. 


A   KNIGHT   OF   THE  GRAIL      13 

Walford  rose. 

"  Sit  down ! "  his  superior  commanded,  as  he 
drew  out  a  sheet  of  note-paper.  / 

"  I  am  writing  a  letter  of  introduction,"  he 
explained  cordially.  "  I  would  rather  have  you 
make  your  impression  on  Dr.  Milner  personally 
than  through  correspondence.  If  he  appoints 
you,  you  will  secure  the  rare  privilege  of  living 
and  working  for  a  year  or  more  by  the  side  of  a 
man  who  shows  forth  the  beauty  of  holiness  not 
only  with  his  lips  but  in  his  life." 

While  the  Bishop  wrote,  the  young  man 
looked  about  him  with  interest  rather  than  ap- 
proval. To  the  soul  keyed  to  sacrifice,  luxury 
is  childishness,  and  Walford  experienced  a  vague 
scorn  of  the  soft  blend  of  Persian  rugs  and  tapes- 
tried walls.  What  right  had  men  with  baubles 
such  as  these  when  their  fellows  were  suffering, 
agonizing,  dying  ?  Yet  unconsciously  his  starved 
esthetic  sense  was  being  fed,  and  he  found  him- 
self rested  and  refreshed. 

Hitherto  his  sense  of  the  beautiful  had  found 
vent  in  the  enjoyment  of  nature  alone.  It  had 
appeared  to  him  a  matter  of  course  that  the 
indoor  world  should  be  full  of  hideous  shapes 
and  crude  colors.  It  seemed  almost  immoral  that 
they  should  be  otherwise;  yet  here  —  he  rose 
and  walked  to  the  book-shelves. 


14      FOUR  ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

"Ah,"  exclaimed  the  Bishop,  with  more  enthu- 
siasm than  he  had  yet  shown,  "you  are  looking 
at  my  books,  eh  ?  "  And  rising,  he,  too,  crossed 
the  room  to  the  shelves  and  drew  out  a  volume 
bound  in  blue  levant.  "Baxter's  'Saint's  Rest,'" 
he  explained,  "  bound  by  Riviere,  and  one  of  my 
treasures.  See  the  delicacy  of  that  tooling  on  the 
inner  edge  —  alternate  crosses  and  crowns — " 

"Very  appropriate,"  Walford  assented;  but 
the  subject  had  little  interest  for  him,  and  he 
swiftly  reverted  to  his  old  hostile  attitude  of 
mind  —  the  protest  of  ethics  against  esthetics,  a 
struggle  nineteen  hundred  years  old. 

The  Bishop  was  quick  to  feel  the  indifference 
of  the  younger  man's  manner.  His  books  were 
his  children,  and  he  was  hypersensitive  as  to  the 
treatment  which  they  received.  He  turned  to  the 
table,  hastily  blotted  and  folded  his  note,  and 
handed  it  to  Walford,  who  perceived  at  once  that 
the  interview  was  ended. 

"  One  thing  more,"  the  Bishop  said.  "I  advise 
you  for  these  coming  eighteen  months  to  put 
Molokai  and  its  lepers  wholly  out  of  your  mind. 
Look  at  them  as  if  they  were  the  last  of  your  life, 
and  resolve  to  live  them  to  the  full.  At  the  end 
of  the  time  we  have  set,  come  back  if  you  will, 
and  then  —  then  we  '11  talk  of  the  future." 

Bishop  Alston,  accompanying  Walford  to  the 


A   KNIGHT   OF   THE  GRAIL      15- 

door,  laid  his  hands  with  kindly  emphasis  upon 
the  youthful  shoulders. 

"  Don't  think,"  he  said,  "  that  I  fail  to  sympa- 
thize with  your  hopes  and  aims !  It  is  a  great 
work  that  you  have  in  view, —  a  noble  work, — 
and  I  honor  you  from  my  heart  for  your  pur- 
pose." 

Walford  bowed  in  silence,  and  the  door  closed 
after  his  retreating  footsteps.  The  Bishop  mused 
for  some  time  with  bent  head,  his  elbows  resting 
on  the  table,  and  his  delicate  fingers  running 
through  the  thin  fringe  of  silver  hair. 

He  pulled  toward  him  the  half-finished  sermon 
which  had  been  thrust  aside  at  the  stranger's 
entrance  and  strove  to  pick  up  again  the  thread 
of  his  discourse ;  but  it  would  not  do.  A  real 
life-problem  had  come  between  him  and  the  aca- 
demic argument,  and  he  could  not  get  rid  of  its 
bulk  and  the  shadow  that  it  cast.  * 

He  acknowledged  to  himself  that  he  had  gone 
beyond  his  warrant  in  advising  this  young  man 
on  such  short  acquaintance.  Would  it  not  have 
been  better,  more  in  keeping  with  his  office,  to 
have  received  Walford's  vows,  to  have  encircled 
him  with  strengthening  influences,  to  have  sent 
him  on  his  sacred  errand  of  help  and  mercy,  and 
followed  him  with  blessing? 

"  No,"  said  the  Bishop,  finally,  aloud,  as  was 


16     FOUR  ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

often  his  wont  in  talking  with  himself;  "  he  must 
prove  all  things  before  he  can  have  strength  to 
hold  fast  that  which  is  good.  I  think  I  will  write 
to  Anne  about  him.  He  has  never  known  a 
woman  like  her.  What  will  he  think  of  Anne, 
I  wonder"?  Will  he  ever  come  back?" 

The  Bishop  meditated  for  a  long  time  with 
folded  arms  and  bent  head.  Then  he  drew  out  a 
fresh  tablet  of  paper,  and,  after  consulting  his 
Testament,  wrote  at  the  head  of  the  page : 

"And  he  bearing  his  cross  went  forth  (John  xix.  17)." 

Having  written  the  text,  he  returned  the  paper 
to  his  drawer  and  turned  the  key.  "  There,"  he 
said ;  "  some  day  I  will  write  a  sermon  from  that 
text  —  some  day  when  I  know  what  this  man 
does  with  his  life.  Archie  Stuart's  grandson ! 
Will  he  ever  come  back  ?  " 

"  Parkins,  turn  off  the  gas  from  the  log." 


II 

THE    FOUR    ROADS 

"  Ai  a  man  thinketh  in  his  heart,  so  is  he." 

WALFORD  had  spent  six  months  in  New 
York,  and  already  he  measured  his  life 
by  them.  Memory  declined  to  visualize  the 
little  Western  town  where  he  had  lived  through 
two-and-twenty  years  of  his  youth,  never  ques- 
tioning the  wealth  of  its  resources.  Why  should 
he  have  questioned  it?  There  were  rows  upon 
rows  of  comfortable  houses  where  the  residents 
were  supremely  occupied  in  residing.  There 
were  new  buildings  constantly  going  up,  more 
commodious  and  no  uglier  than  their  predeces- 
sors, and  there  was  a  steady  growth  of  the  census 
report,  which  brought  swelling  pride  to  the  heart 
of  every  loyal  citizen  of  Alkali. 

As  he  looked  back  upon  it  all  now,  it  was  as 
if  through  a  veil  of  the  dust  of  the  plains.  The 
present  alone  had  tangible  reality.  At  twenty- 
five  he  felt  that  he  had  just  begun  to  live. 

17 


i8     FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

New  York  "  haunted  him  like  a  passion."  He 
felt  an  intoxication  in  its  very  air,  and  he  threw 
himself  eagerly  into  each  passing  experience. 
He  had  visited  every  picture-gallery;  he  knew 
every  orchestral  program  by  heart ;  he  had  dined 
in  rich  men's  palaces ;  he  had  heard  great  orators 
and  felt  the  thrill  of  their  speech.  But,  after  all, 
there  was  nothing  like  the  city  streets.  They  had 
taught  him  more  than  all  the  rest,  and  he  was  ac- 
customed to  walk  up  and  down  the  great  thor- 
oughfares from  Broadway  to  the  Bowery,  in  a 
delighted  absorption,  studying  the  myriad  types 
of  men  drifting  around  him. 

On  this  Sunday  morning  he  was  on  his  way 
from  church  to  keep  a  luncheon  engagement  at 
a  club,  and  as  he  strolled  up  Fifth  Avenue,  un- 
consciously he  caught  the  gaiety  of  the  crowd 
which  surged  up  and  down  in  all  colors  of  the 
rainbow,  like  a  flight  of  butterflies  sunning  them- 
selves in  the  soft  spring  air. 

At  a  broad  window  of  the  club  toward  which 
Walford's  steps  were  tending,  two  men  sat  in 
deep  leather  arm-chairs,  viewing  the  scene  be- 
neath them  with  lazy  enjoyment. 

"  How  intensely  alive  it  all  is !  "  said  one  of  the 
spectators,  a  tall  man  with  thinly  parted,  colorless 
hair.  "  It  gives  me  a  qualm  to  think  of  tearing  my- 
self away  from  a  show  like  this  to  go  to  a  funeral." 


THE   FOUR   ROADS  19 

"  You  going  to  a  funeral  this  afternoon,  Flem- 
ing ?  I  wonder  if  it  's  mine." 

"  You  don't  look  like  it,  Yates." 

The  speaker  smiled  as  he  watched  the  flushed 
face  and  stout  figure  opposite. 

Yates  wore  a  scarf-pin  in  the  shape  of  a 
telephone  mouthpiece,  yet  he  had  his  good 
points. 

"Oh,"  he  explained  with  superfluous  exactness, 
"  I  did  n't  mean  mine  in  that  sense ;  I  mean  the 
one  I  'm  going  to  —  the  services  in  memory  of 
my  uncle,  Richard  Biythe." 

"  Curious ! "  exclaimed  a  third  man,  dropping 
the  newspaper  which  he  had  been  reading,  and 
drawing  up  his  chair.  "  I  am  going  there,  too. 
I  was  Blythe's  physician  awhile  ago,  before  I 
gave  up  practice." 

Fleming  chuckled. 

"  *  Earth  covers  the  doctor's  errors,'  Newton," 
he  said. 

"  It  would  be  a  lucky  thing  for  Biythe  if  it 
covered  the  errors  of  the  patients/'  Newton  an- 
swered, and  then  added,  "  I  forgot  that  you  said 
he  was  your  uncle,  Yates." 

"  Don't  apologize  !  You  can't  hurt  my  feel- 
ings by  any  remarks.  I  '11  tell  you  what  I  think 
when  I  've  read  the  will." 

"  His  will  is  in  my  box  at  the  safe-deposit 


20      FOUR  ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

company,"  said  Fleming,  quietly.  "  I  have  told 
my  clerk  to  send  you  a  copy  to-morrow." 

Yates  opened  his  eyes  wide. 

"  I  did  n't  know  you  knew  my  uncle  so  well. 
Have  you  been  his  counsel  long  *? " 

"  Ten  years  or  so.  Excuse  me  !  I  must  look 
out  for  a  guest  who  is  coming  —  Mr.  Walford. 
You  know  him,  Newton  ?  " 

"  I  have  seen  him  somewhere,  but  I  can't  re- 
member where." 

"  He  's  the  new  assistant  rector  at  St.  Simeon's. 
You  have  probably  seen  his  picture  in  the  Sun- 
day papers,  bracketed  with  Dr.  Milner's,  this 
morning.  He  's  another  recruit  for  the  service 
this  afternoon,  and  lunches  with  me  here  first. 
Blythc  was  a  parishioner,  you  know." 

As  Fleming  spoke,  the  other  men  turned  their 
glance  toward  the  slender,  dark-eyed  man  who 
entered  the  room  preceded  by  a  uniformed  bell- 
boy, and  threaded  his  way  among  the  groups  of 
idlers.  He  looked  about  him  inquiringly,  until 
his  search  ended  in  Fleming,  and  he  smiled  il- 
luminatingly  as  Fleming  moved  to  meet  him. 

"  That  smile  ought  to  be  worth  ten  thousand 
a  year  to  a  clergyman,"  Newton  said  to  Yates 
under  his  breath,  rising  to  greet  the  newcomer. 

"  Dr.  Newton,  Mr.  Walford  —  and  Mr.  Yates," 
said  Fleming. 


THE  FOUR   ROADS  21 

The  men  bowed :  Yates  like  an  American,  as 
if  conferring  an  honor,  Newton  like  a  European, 
as  if  receiving  one. 

"  We  were  just  speaking  of  the  funeral  this 
afternoon.  We  are  all  going  —  Dr.  Newton 
was  Mr.  Blythe's  physician  and  Mr.  Yates  is  his 
nephew." 

"  Indeed ! "  said  Walford,  non-committally ; 
then  turning  to  Yates,  "  Your  uncle  was  a  liberal 
supporter  of  our  church  charities/' 

"  A  good  advertisement,  that  giving  to  chari- 
ties," Yates  answered.  "Uncle  Richard  never 
gave  anything  that  people  did  n't  hear  of,  I 
guess." 

"  Oh,  come,  Yates,"  Fleming  observed, "  that 's 
not  fair  play.  There  is  always  more  than  an 
even  chance  that  the  living  are  speaking  ill  of 
you,  so  that  what  you  say  of  them  is  only  give 
and  take ;  but  when  their  meuths  are  shut,  yours 
ought  to  be." 

"  Yes,"  said  Newton,  "  silence  in  regard  to  the 
dead  is  an  easy  form  of  charity ;  but  I  pity  the 
clergyman  called  upon  for  a  post-mortem  eulogy. 
There  's  where  your  church  service  is  such  a 
refuge.  Fancy  a  man  called  upon  to  eulogize 
Richard  Blythe,  to  tell  what  a  benefit  to  man- 
kind his  example  had  been,  and  what  a  joy  it 
would  be  to  meet  him  again  in  heaven ! " 


22      FOUR  ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

"  Heaven  !  Does  any  one  believe  in  it  now- 
adays ?  Excuse  me,  Mr.  Walford ;  I  forgot  the 
cloth  for  the  moment." 

It  was  Fleming  who  spoke. 

Walford  forced  himself  to  smile.  Had  he 
not  resolved  to  be  all  things  to  all  men,  and  was 
not  this  a  phase  of  life  and  thought  with  which 
he  was  bound  to  come  in  touch,  at  least  from 
the  outside  ? 

"  Please  go  on,"  he  said.  "  Is  it  your  opinion 
that  most  people  do  not  believe  in  heaven  *?  " 

"  No  more  than  they  do  in  the  Beatitudes  or 
the  Golden  Rule,"  said  Yates,  going  further  than 
Fleming  had  intended. 

"  It  's  a  golden  rule  that  won't  work  both 
ways,"  he  murmured,  ready  to  sacrifice  his  repu- 
tation for  intelligence  for  the  sake  of  changing 
the  subject;  but  the  topic  was  a  Frankenstein 
creation  which,  once  called  into  existence,  would 
not  down  at  the  bidding  of  its  creator. 

"  I  don't  suppose,"  said  Newton,  fixing  his 
hawk  eyes  on  Fleming,  "  that  one  in  a  hundred 
of  these  people  who  have  just  come  out  of  their 
churches  could  give  an  intelligible  account  of 
his  idea  of  heaven,  or  even  of  what  he  would 
wish  it  to  be." 

"  *  Heaven  is  the  vision  of  fulfilled  desire,'  " 
said  Fleming,  wondering  if  anything  short  of  an 


THE   FOUR   ROADS  23 

order  for  drinks  would  drive  Frankenstein's  man 
back  to  his  lair. 

"  All  desires  *?  "  Newton  asked  in  his  rasping 
voice. 

Fleming  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  The  words 
are  Omar's,  not  mine,"  he  said. 

But  Newton  returned  to  the  charge. 

"Tell  us,  Yates,  what  would  your  idea  of 
heaven  be?" 

As  he  spoke,  Dr.  Newton  settled  back  in  his 
chair  and  lighted  a  cigar,  while  he  looked  at 
Yates  through  half-closed  lids,  curiously,  as  he 
would  have  inspected  a  lizard  or  a  beetle.  He 
noted  the  angle  extending  outward  from  the 
temples  to  the  base  of  the  jaw,  the  puffy  circles 
about  the  eyes,  and  he  felt  that  it  would  greatly 
interest  him  to  know  what  conception  of  the 
spiritual  world  lay  imbedded  in  that  individ- 
uality. 

"  Well,"  said  Yates,  playing  with  his  watch- 
chain,  "  I  believe  in  taking  your  good  times 
while  you  can  get  them  here  on  earth.  I  like 
yachts  and  horses  and  automobiles  and  all  that — " 

"  That  is,"  said  Fleming,  giving  up  the  con- 
test and  yielding  to  the  inevitable,  "given  plenty 
of  money,  you  'd  guarantee  to  make  a  heaven 
of  your  own.  What  would  you  say,  Newton*? 
What  would  your  heaven  be  ?  " 


24      FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

"  I  confess  I  have  no  views  of  the  future  state. 
I  hold  no  chair  of  eschatology,  and  my  ambi- 
tions for  this  world  are  quite  modest." 

"  For  instance  "?  " 

The  question  roused  Newton  to  a  new  energy. 
He  sat  up  straight  and  buttoned  his  rough  tweed 
coat  close  over  his  chest.  His  fine  bearing  and 
ill-fitting  clothes  gave  him  a  curious  effect  of 
being  a  cross  between  a  prince  incognito  and  a 
tramp  cognito. 

His  eyes  shot  fire  from  under  his  shaggy  eye- 
brows as  he  answered  :  "  My  ambition  *?  Simply 
to  put  myself  to  school  to  learn  something  of  the 
laws  under  which  we  live.  Here  we  are,  several 
hundred  millions  of  atoms  clinging  to  a  small 
dependency  of  a  small  sun.  The  breath  of  life 
lasts  with  each  of  us  a  mere  fraction  of  the  time 
it  takes  for  a  ray  of  light  from  the  distant  stars  to 
reach  us.  Now,  with  such  an  ephemeral  exis- 
tence, nothing  seems  worth  while  except  to  oc- 
cupy ourselves  with  guesses  at  truth  and  some 
effort  to  solve  the  world-enigma. 

"  But,  after  all,"  said  Fleming,  "  that  is  a  ques- 
tion of  duty,  not  of  happiness." 

"  I  can't  imagine  finding  happiness  in  any- 
thing which  we  realize  as  lasting  only  for  a 
moment.  We  must  hook  our  lives  on  to  the 
eternities  to  give  them  any  significance.  Know- 


THE   FOUR   ROADS  25 

ledge,  after  all,  is  a  coral  island,  built  on  millions 
of  dead  workers." 

"  But  this  does  not  touch  the  question  of  indi- 
vidual pleasure." 

"  Oh,"  said  Newton,  "  if  you  ask  what  my  idea 
of  pleasure  is,  I  should  say  work.  If  you  ask 
what  reward,  I  should  say  recognition  of  my 
work." 

"  Fame  ?  " 

"  Not  what  most  men  mean  by  that.  It  would 
not  gratify  me  in  the  least  to  see  my  name  in 
five-inch  letters  on  the  front  of  a  morning  news- 
paper, still  less  to  see  my  picture  — "  Here  he 
paused,  noting  Walford's  conscious  flush,  and 
then  hurled  himself  toward  his  next  remark,  care- 
less  of  connection :  "  Jury  of  my  peers,  that  's 
what  I  wish  to  be  tried  by,  and  I  am  willing  to 
accept  the  verdict.  Come,  Fleming,  it  's  your 
turn." 

"  Oh,  leave  me  out !     I  have  no  imagination." 

"You  are  a  fortunate  man,"  said  Newton. 
"  Imagination  is  death  to  accurate  deductions :  it 
is  a  nuisance.  Did  you  ever  watch  an  assayer 
weigh  a  grain  of  gold  *?  He  puts  the  grain  on 
the  tiny  scale,  and  then  he  draws  down  a  glass 
case  over  it,  so  that  there  shall  be  no  vibration 
of  air  to  disturb  the  balance.  That 's  the  way  we 
ought  to  measure  truth  —  in  a  dead  calm.  In- 


26    FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

stead  of  which,  we  turn  imagination  loose  to  blow 
a  gale  over  it.  A  nuisance  I  call  it,  an  unmiti- 
gated nuisance — " 

"  There  I  differ  with  you,"  Fleming  answered. 
"  Imagination  is  given  to  a  man  to  console  him 
for  what  he  is  not,  as  humor  is  given  to  him  to 
console  him  for  what  he  is.  A  man  who  has  both 
is  very  near  heaven  already." 

"  But  your  ambition  *?  " 

"  Bless  your  inquiring  soul,  Newton,  I  have  n't 
any !  Time  was,  before  my  eyes  gave  out,  when 
I  expected  to  see  the  name  of  Blair  Fleming 
writ  large  on  the  bill-board  of  history;  but  next 
to  a  career,  the  best  thing  is  a  good  excuse  for 
not  achieving  one." 

"  Have  you  no  hopes  ?  " 

"  Hopes  *?  Yes,  I  have  hopes  of  getting 
through  life  with  as  little  interference  with  or 
from  my  neighboring  atoms  as  possible." 

"  But  your  idea  of  heaven  *?  " 

"A  land  where  I  should  never  be  bored  — 
Utopian,  you  see." 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Newton,  giving  up  Fleming 
and  turning  to  the  latest  comer,  "  Mr.  Walford 
will  give  us  his  views." 

Walford,  who  till  now  had  been  an  interested 
and  amused,  if  somewhat  shocked,  onlooker, 
found  himself  suddenly  dragged  into  the  melee. 


THE  FOUR   ROADS  27 

"I  —  I  am  afraid  I  have  no  views  worth  con- 
tributing," he  stammered,  awkwardly  fingering 
the  prayer-book  in  his  hand. 

"Oh,  well,  now,"  said  Fleming,  "you  know 
we  don't  expect  an  inspired  account;  we  only 
wish  to  know  what  you  think  of  when  you  say 
4  heaven.' " 

"  Shall  I  tell  seriously  ?  " 

"  Of  course." 

"  Then  I  should  say  that  it  was  a  place  where 
all  men  lived  in  obedience  to  the  will  of  God, 
and  that  my  highest  heaven  would  lie  in  the 
thought  that  I  had  led  them  there." 

"  In  short,"  said  Newton,  setting  his  tense, 
positive  lips  argumentatively,  "your  idea  of 
heaven  is  influence  ?  " 

"  Influence  for  good  —  yes,  I  suppose  it  re- 
duces itself  to  that,"  Walford  answered  in  evi- 
dent embarrassment. 

Fleming,  perceiving  that  his  guest  was  ill  at 
ease  in  being  thus  crowded  into  a  corner,  stopped 
wiping  his  eye-glasses,  stooped  forward  in  order 
to  thrust  his  handkerchief  into  his  coat-tail 
pocket,  and  said : 

"  Suppose  for  heaven  we  substitute  paradise — 
that  word  is  depolarized,  and  we  may  speak  our 
minds  more  freely.  To  Yates,  paradise  means 
money.  Newton  declares  for  work  and  the 


28      FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

credit  for  it.  And  you  want  influence  —  influ- 
ence for  good.  I  wonder  if  any  of  you  will 
attain  your  paradise." 

Walford  noticed  that  Fleming  had  really  said 
nothing  of  himself,  and  he  would  have  liked  to 
ask  further ;  but  something  forbade.  The  young 
clergyman  had  learned  many  things  in  the  few 
months  of  his  stay  in  New  York.  Men  here 
intrenched  themselves  behind  a  barrier  of  re- 
serve. What  was  sympathy  in  the  West  became 
curiosity  in  the  East,  and  it  was  not  permitted 
to  inquire  too  closely.  He  had  noticed,  too, 
how  much  less  strenuously  for  the  most  part  men 
in  the  metropolis  held  their  beliefs.  Opinions 
seemed  to  be  flats,  not  homesteads.  They  were 
shorn  of  association  and  sacredness,  and  liable  to 
be  changed  at  convenience,  or  were  at  least  open 
to  alteration  on  any  promise  of  betterment.  He 
was  not  sure  that  he  preferred  it  to  the  provincial- 
ism where  "  I  have  always  thought "  was  reason 
good.  To  him  it  savored  of  levity;  and  yet  he 
could  not  deny  that  it  gave  a  sense  of  spacious- 
ness to  talk. 

Newton  irritated  him.  The  doctor  had  a  way 
of  saying :  "  Is  that  your  point  of  view*?  How 
very  interesting ! "  which  reduced  one  to  the 
status  of  a  specimen.  But  Fleming  was  differ- 
ent. Walford  felt  that  he  understood  that  long, 


THE   FOUR   ROADS  29 

lazy  man  with  the  colorless  hair,  and  to  compre- 
hend is  to  possess.  Yet  he  was  troubled  by 
Fleming's  views  and  unreligious  attitude  of  mind. 
He  wished  devoutly  that  his  influence  for  good 
might  begin  with  Fleming. 

His  thoughts  were  interrupted  by  seeing 
Yates  yawn,  first  surreptitiously,  then  openly,  and 
finally  rise  and  look  at  his  watch. 

"Do  you  lunch  at  the  club,  too,  Newton?" 
Yates  asked.  "  I  presume  you  are  in  town  for 
the  dayV" 

"  Yes,"  Newton  answered.  "  I  have  moved 
to  the  suburbs  for  work ;  but  for  relaxation  New 
York  is  the  only  place." 

"  And  your  wife  —  does  she  like  life  on  Long 
Island  <? " 

"  Oh,  yes ;  she  loves  her  potato-patch  and  her 
poultry  better  than  anything  that  Fifth  Avenue 
could  give  her." 

"  Suburbanity  !  "  Fleming  murmured  under  his 
breath. 

As  the  group  broke  up,  Yates  drew  Fleming 
a  little  aside,  and  stood  for  the  moment  tilting 
a  chair  back  and  forth  in  some  embarrassment. 
At  last  breaking  the  silence  with  which  Fleming 
declined  to  meddle,  he  said : 

"  You  have  been  Mr.  Blythe's  counsel  for  ten 
years  ?  " 


30      FOUR  ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

"  I  have." 

"  Then  you  probably  know  his  daughter-in-law.*1 

"  Mrs.  Richard  Blythe,  Jr.?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  I  have  met  her  occasionally." 

"  A  charming  woman  Anne  Blythe  is." 

Fleming  bowed. 

"  Her  husband,  Dick  Blythe,  was  rather  a 
brute,"  Yates  went  on. 

"  So  I  have  heard." 

"  He  took  after  his  father.  But  the  old  man 
seemed  fond  of  his  son's  widow.  She  was  at  the 
head  of  his  house,  you  know." 

"  Yes,  I  know." 

"  Would  there  be  any  harm  in  asking  if  the 
bulk  of  my  uncle's  fortune  goes  to  her  *?  " 

"  No  harm  whatever." 

"  Well,  then  —  does  it  ?  " 

"  The  harm  would  lie  in  my  answering.  You 
and  Mrs.  Blythe  will  each  receive  a  copy  of  the 
will  to-morrow.  Before  that  you  must  excuse 
me  from  talking  on  the  subject." 

'*  Humph ! "  said  Yates,  as  he  left  the  room 
and  walked  slowly  down  the  marble  steps,  plan- 
ned for  princes  and  trod  by  plebeians,  "Flem- 
ing need  n't  be  so  touchy.  Of  all  the  fool 
things  in  the  world,  professional  etiquette  is  the 
damn-foolishest." 


Ill 


ANNE    BLYTHE 

"  About  the  nations  rum  a  «aw 
That  over-good  ill  fortune  breed*." 

IT  was  the  afternoon  of  the  third  day  after  the 
funeral  when  Stuart  Walford  rang  the  bell  of 
the  Blythe  mansion,  and  on  inquiring  for  Mrs. 
Blythe  was  shown  into  the  drawing-room,  which 
ran  the  length  of  the  house  on  the  street  side 
of  the  hall. 

This  was  Walford's  first  call  of  condolence, 
and  he  wished  devoutly  that  Dr.  Milner  had 
been  at  home  to  make  it  in  his  place ;  but  he 
told  himself  that,  after  all,  it  was  an  experience 
and  an  opportunity  for  influence ;  moreover,  the 
reports  which  he  had  heard  of  Mrs.  Blythe, 
whom  he  had  not  yet  seen,  led  him  to  think  that 
she  would  be  of  a  new  and  interesting  type. 
Altogether  it  was  in  a  mixed  state  of  mind  that 
he  entered  the  drawing-room. 

The  time  of  his  waiting  did  not  weary  him, 
3' 


32      FOUR  ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

for  he  was  so  unaccustomed  to  New  York  that 
each  new  phase  interested  him,  and  the  Blythe 
household  represented  distinctly  a  new  phase. 
Ordinarily  at  this  time  of  the  year  the  rooms 
would  have  been  swathed  in  those  cerements  of 
white  linen  in  which  the  best  houses  stand  after 
the  first  of  May,  awaiting  their  resurrection  in  the 
autumn.  But  Mr.  Blythe's  illness  had  postponed 
all  this  springtime  demolition.  Heavy  draperies 
still  covered  the  windows,  Eastern  rugs  lay  their 
palm-leaf  length  on  the  slippery  floor,  and  the 
fine  paintings  on  the  wall  hung  undisguised  by 
swath  ings. 

It  was  one  of  the  pictures  which  had  fixed 
Walford's  attention  so  closely  as  to  make  him 
oblivious  of  the  time  occupied  by  Mrs.  Blythe  in 
her  toilet.  The  painter  was  a  Frenchman,  and 
had  chosen  his  subject  for  its  theatrical  effec- 
tiveness and  its  adaptability  to  composition  —  a 
young  girl  of  noble  family  taking  the  veil  in  a 
Carmelite  convent :  on  one  side  the  dim  throng 
of  sad-colored  nuns,  on  the  other  the  court  circle 
in  gorgeous  garb,  and  in  the  center  this  slim  vir- 
ginal figure,  with  the  meager  charm  of  a  Botticelli 
Madonna,  bending  its  golden  head  to  receive  the 
obliterating  veil. 

Walford's  awakening  esthetic  sense  took  in 
vaguely  the  glow  of  color  and  the  grace  of  line ; 


ANNE   BLYTHE  33 

but  he  was  still  unsophisticated  enough  to  be  af- 
fected by  the  story  told  by  the  painter,  and  he  felt 
himself  strongly  moved  by  the  pathos  of  it  all. 

So  absorbed  had  he  become  that  he  was  almost 
startled  by  the  rustle  of  skirts  and  the  tap  of  a 
slippered  foot  on  the  oak  stairs.  He  rose  stiffly 
and  awaited  the  coming  interview,  his  thoughts 
rapidly  passing  in  review  the  course  which  he 
had  determined  that  it  should  take. 

First  he  would  introduce  himself  and  explain 
his  coming,  then  he  would  struggle  through  the 
period  of  condolence,  then  he  would  glide  off 
into  church-work,  for  his  lately  acquired  worldly 
wisdom  taught  him  not  to  overlook  the  possible 
value  of  the  Blythe  fortune  to  the  St.  Simeon 
Mission. 

Mrs.  Blythe  entered.  Walford  had  a  confused 
impression  of  a  slight  figure,  a  small  head  held 
loftily,  hazel  eyes  with  high  lights  in  them,  and 
curling  lashes  which  lent  a  childlike  expression  to 
a  glance  otherwise  somewhat  defiant  in  its  direct- 
ness. Walford  instinctively  suspended  judg- 
ment on  her  beauty  till  she  should  speak :  after 
she  had  spoken  he  forgot  to  have  an  opinion. 

Mrs.  Blythe  bade  him  good  morning  as  easily 
as  if  she  had  known  him  all  her  life,  and  motioned 
him  to  be  seated,  while  for  herself  she  selected  a 
low  easy-chair  covered  with  pale-green  brocade. 


34      FOUR  ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

Walford  began  at  once  on  the  little  speech 
which  he  had  prepared  on  the  street  and  sorted 
on  the  steps. 

"  I  have  come,"  he  said,  "  at  the  request  of  Dr. 
Milner,  who  is  out  of  town,  to  bring  you  a  mes- 
sage of  sympathy  in  your  sorrow." 

The  candid  eyes  looked  full  into  his  face  for 
an  instant. 

"  It  was  very  good  in  you  —  in  him ;  but,  to 
be  quite  frank  with  you,  I  do  not  need  it." 

Involuntarily  Walford's  gaze  swept  over  her 
black  dress  and  rested  on  the  dark  circles  beneath 
her  eyes. 

Mrs.  Blythe  answered  as  if  he  had  spoken. 

"Yes,  I  know;  but  they  are  deceptive.  I 
wear  black  because  I  wish  the  world  to  think 
that  I  am  sorry,  and  I  have  been  crying  because 
I  am  not." 

Walford  had  come  armed  with  several  felici- 
tous quotations  from  Thomas  a  Kempis  and 
Phillips  Brooks,  but  clearly  they  would  not  fit. 
Fortunately,  he  chanced  upon  the  simplest  and 
therefore  the  best  form  of  speech. 

"  Tell  me  about  it  all,  please.  That  is,  if  you 
can." 

"  I  think,"  Anne  began  hesitatingly,  "  that  I 
should  like  to  tell  you,  if  you  have  time  to  listen. 
Yes,  I  should  like  to  tell  you,  though  I  know  you 


ANNE  BLYTHE  35 

so  little  —  perhaps  because  I  know  you  so  little. 
I  have  been  decorous,  and  said  just  what  I  ought, 
till  I  can't  bear  it  any  longer.  I  must  speak  out." 

As  long  as  women  go  to  church  and  have 
clergymen,  they  will  continue  to  make  injudicious 
confidences  to  them.  It  is  the  legacy  of  many 
hundred  years.  But  Anne  thought  little  of  this  as 
she  sat  looking  down,  pushing  the  great  diamond 
round  and  round  on  her  slender  third  finger. 
Her  mind  was  altogether  fixed  on  herself  and 
her  own  troubles.  The  man  before  her  was  only 
an  escape-valve,  a  vent.  She  began  at  last  ex- 
plosively. 

"  For  the  last  year  and  a  half  I  have  lived 
here  under  Richard  Blythe's  roof  in  what  the 
world  calls  perfect  comfort.  I  have  had  fine 
clothes  to  wear,  and  carriages  to  drive  in  at  such 
hours  as  suited  Mr.  Blythe.  Friends  I  have  had 
none  —  he  did  not  approve.  His  footstep  in  the 
hall  of  an  afternoon  was  the  first  sound  to  break 
the  stillness.  Then  came  the  drive  in  the  park 
without  a  friendly  word — just  the  monotonous 
sound  of  the  horses'  feet.  Afterward  came  dinner, 
long  and  solemn  and  silent ;  then  the  evening  in 
the  library,  where  he  liked  me  to  play  to  him ; 
and  then  he  would  take  down  his  son's  picture 
from  the  mantel  and  talk,  talk,  talk  about  him." 

"  That  at  least  must  have  been  a  comfort." 


36     FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

"Comfort*?  It  was  a  torture.  I  wonder,  in 
looking  back,  why  I  endured  the  last  eighteen 
months;  and  yet  I  know  why  well  enough.  It 
was  the  same  thing  that  made  me  marry  Richard 
Blythe's  son  —  I  loved  luxury.  I  was  only 
eighteen  when  I  was  married.  I  knew  I  was 
marrying  for  money ;  but  I  did  not  know  what 
it  meant." 

Walford's  eyes  looked  his  sympathy. 

"  For  four  years  we  lived  together  as  man  and 
wife,"  she  continued.  "  I  never  look  back  upon 
that  time  —  I  cannot.  It  was  hell !  " 

The  silence  was  broken  only  by  the  tick  of  the 
clock  on  the  mantel.  Anne  Blythe  could  scarcely 
articulate  for  the  dryness  in  her  throat,  but  when 
she  spoke  again  it  was  calmly  enough. 

"  He  died  at  last,  cursing  God  and  man,  and 
most  of  all  his  wife." 

There  was  bitterness  in  her  voice.  It  grew  as 
she  went  on. 

"His  father  took  the  same  view:  it  was  my 
fault;  all  young  fellows  sowed  their  wild  oats; 
men  were  what  their  wives  made  them.  I  knew 
my  lesson  well." 

"  At  least  it  is  over  now." 

"Yes,"  she  exclaimed,  her  look  changing  swiftly 
from  bitterness  to  exultation.  "  It  is  over  now, 
and  I  mean  to  be  happy,  to  lead  my  own  life." 


ANNE   BLYTHE  37 

"  It  ought  to  be  a  happy  life  which  lies  before 
a  woman  like  you,  with  youth  and  health  and  a 
great  fortune." 

"  So  you  have  heard  that,"  she  said  quickly. 
"Perhaps  you  think  I  ought  to  be  grateful  to 
Mr.  Blythe  for  leaving  me  his  millions;  but  I  'm 
not.  He  had  to  leave  them  to  some  one,  and 
he  hated  the  Yateses.  Besides,  the  humiliating 
conditions !  But  never  mind  those  ;  I  have  put 
everything  behind  me  except  the  joy  of  belong- 
ing to  myself  and  being  the  woman  I  always 
meant  to  be." 

"  Perhaps  it  is  not  an  opportune  time  to  bring 
up  the  matter;  but  later, —  it  might  do  you 
good, —  if  we  could  interest  you  in  our  parish 
work  among  the  poor — " 

Mrs.  Blythe  put  up  a  deprecating  hand,  palm 
outward. 

"  Thank  you,  no !  I  know  nothing  of  your 
poor.  I  wish  to  know  less.  It  is  my  life  I  mean 
to  lead  —  mine^  not  Bridget's  in  the  tenement  nor 
Jacob's  in  the  sweat-shop.  I  have  had  enough 
of  vice  and  misery.  The  corners  of  my  soul 
are  full  of  their  germs;  I  want  a  great  wave  of 
happiness  to  wash  it  all  clean.  Oh,  can't  you  see !" 

"  Yes,  yes,"  Walford  answered,  "  I  do  see.  I 
understand  perfectly." 

"  Thank  you ;   it  's  awfully  good  in  you  to 


38      FOUR  ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

understand.  You  don't  know  what  it  means  to 
me,  after  living  with  a  man  like  my  father-in- 
law,  who  never  would  —  " 

"  Perhaps  he  could  n't  —  " 

"  He  never  wished  to." 

"And  yet  I  think,"  said  Walford,  softly, 
"  that  he  was  very  fond  of  you." 

"  Of  me  ! "  Anne  sat  bolt  upright,  and  her 
eyes  grew  round  as  china  plates. 

"  Yes,  I  am  sure  of  it." 

"Why,  please?" 

"He  took  so  much  trouble — " 

"  Yes  —  to  trouble  me." 

"  Exactly." 

"  But  — " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  say  it 's  agreeable  to  be  loved  in 
that  fashion,  and  no  doubt  it  was  selfish  in  Mr. 
Blythe ;  but  don't  you  see  how  he  tried  to  keep 
you  with  him  and  to  keep  other  people  away,  and 
to  make  you  talk  with  him  about  your  —  about 
his  son,  and  all  the  time  he  grew  more  and  more 
bitter  and  exacting  because  he  could  n't  make 
you  show  what  you  felt  ?  But  he  could  n't  any 
more  than  if  he  had  been  pouring  gall  and  worm- 
wood over  a  marble  statue." 

"  I  think,"  said  Anne,  with  a  tired  little  sigh, 
"  I  prefer  admiration  to  love.  It  demands  so 
much  less." 


'  YES,  YES,'  WALFORU   ANSWERED,   'I   DO    SEE.       I  UNDERSTAND   PERFECTLY." 


ANNE   BLYTHE  41 

"  Perhaps  that  is  because  you  never  loved." 

Walford  trembled  at  his  audacity  when  he  had 
spoken,  but  his  words  gave  no  offense. 

"  It  is  wonderful,"  Anne  murmured,  "  perfectly 
wonderful,  how  you  understand  ! " 

The  words  were  spoken  like  a  little  child. 
Walford  half  smiled  as  he  rose. 

"I  will  not  stay  longer  now,"  he  said,  "for  I 
see  that  you  are  overstrained  and  need  rest ;  but 
if  at  any  time  you  would  like  to  talk  with  me, 
you  have  only  to  let  me  know." 

"  Thank  you  again.  It  means  a  great  deal  to 
me  —  your  sympathy.  If  you  get  hold  of  every 
one  as  you  have  of  me,  there  will  be  no  end  to 
your  influence  here  in  New  York." 

Walford  colored  and  hesitated  a  moment. 
Should  he  tell  her?  "No,"  said  Intuition,  which 
taught  him  that  mutual  confidences  cheapen  each 
other,  and  that  no  afternoon  is  long  enough  for 
two  souls  to  unburden  themselves. 

As  Anne  stretched  out  her  hand  at  parting,  her 
handkerchief  dropped  to  the  floor.  Walford 
stooped  awkwardly  enough  to  pick  it  up.  The 
faint  scent  of  the  bit  of  black-edged  cobweb  clung 
to  his  glove. 

On  the  steps  he  lingered  to  look  at  his  watch 
and  wonder  how  much  time  he  had  before  the 
Penny  Provident  meeting.  To  his  surprise,  he 


42      FOUR  ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

found  that  he  was  late  already;  yet  he  did  not 
hasten.  His  thoughts  were  still  in  the  shaded 
parlor.  He  still  saw  that  luminous  pale  face, 
those  frank  mutinous  eyes.  And  he  had  minis- 
tered to  that  sore  heart.  Yes,  she  had  said  so,  and 
—  what  was  it"?  That  there  might  be  no  end  to 
his  influence  here  in  this  great  city.  She  had  not 
guessed  how  near  at  hand  the  end  was.  Here 
he  broke  off  abruptly  and  turned  to  another  line 
of  thought. 

How  did  it  happen,  he  wondered,  that  he,  a 
clergyman,  had  gone  to  the  house  of  mourning 
and  had  said  no  word  of  spiritual  consolation  or 
exhortation  —  that  his  only  answer  to  words  of 
rebellion  and  self-assertion  had  been,  "  I  under- 
stand perfectly  "  ? 

From  this  he  turned  to  still  another  theme,  and 
tried  to  conjure  up  the  vision  of  Mrs.  Blythe  as 
she  looked  sitting  in  that  deep  chair  against  the 
green  of  the  brocade.  He  found  it  a  task  beyond 
his  powers.  Analysis  is  necessary  to  recollection, 
and  analysis  is  possible  only  to  the  calm  observer. 

As  for  Anne,  after  her  talk  with  Walford,  her 
spirits  rebounded  violently.  A  consciousness  of 
imprudence  is  an  exhilarating  tonic.  She  had 
spoken  out.  On  the  whole,  she  was  not  sorry. 
The  explosion  was  bound  to  come,  and  under 
other  circumstances  the  confidence  might  have 


ANNE   BLYTHE  43 

been  much  more  dangerous.  She  had,  as  it  were, 
shrived  herself  before  a  priest,  who  was  bound  to 
observe  professional  reticence.  Moreover,  Mr. 
Walford,  with  his  awkward  manner  and  his 
Western  accent,  was  not  quite  of  her  world,  and 
she  would  be  spared  that  annoying  consciousness 
which  besets  us  in  constant  meetings  with  those 
to  whom  we  have  laid  our  hearts  inconveniently 
bare. 

Yes,  she  was  glad,  distinctly  glad.  Let  that 
be  the  last  word  on  the  past.  Now  for  the  fu- 
ture!  With  a  light  heart  she  tripped  up  the 
stairs  to  her  little  boudoir.  On  the  desk  lay  a 
letter  from  her  uncle,  Bishop  Alston.  She  was 
very  fond  of  the  Bishop,  and  she  opened  and 
read  the  letter  eagerly : 

*'  MY  DEAR  ANNE  :  I  will  not  pretend  to  con- 
dole with  you  over  Mr.  Blythe's  death.  I  know 
how  difficult  your  position  was  and  how  strained 
the  relations  between  you  and  him  have  been 
since  your  husband  died.  Under  the  circum- 
stances the  parting  must  be  a  relief.  I  suppose, 
as  there  are  no  nearer  heirs,  you  will  have  a  large 
share  of  the  property.  If  so,  remember  that  the 
only  return  you  can  make  is  by  allowing  no  re- 
flection to  be  cast  upon  Mr.  Blythe's  memory. 
Believe  me,  my  dear  niece,  there  is  nothing  equal 


44      FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

in  dignity  to  silence.  Do  not  be  misled  by  any 
desire  to  put  your  side  of  the  story  before  the 
world.  The  world  will  thrust  its  tongue  into  its 
cheek  and  believe  just  what  it  chooses  anyway. 
[Anne  bit  her  lip  as  she  remembered  the  flow  of 
confidences  to  the  curate  an  hour  ago.]  But  for- 
give my  sermonizing  pen  if  it  runs  away  with 
me  [the  letter  went  on] ;  I  did  not  take  it  up  to 
lecture,  but  to  beg.  I  want  a  visit — a  good 
long  visit — from  you  as  soon  as  your  affairs  are 
settled  and  you  can  leave  New  York  with  a 
comfortable  sense  of  leisure.  Remember  I  am 
past  sixty-three,  and,  as  my  friend  FitzGerald 
says :  *  We  grand  climactericals  must  not  pro- 
crastinate, much  less  pro-annuate.'  Come  to  me, 
and  write  me  when  you  will  come,  that  I  may 
be  glad  beforehand. 

"  I  often  blame  myself,  in  looking  over  your 
life,  that  I  did  not  make  a  stronger  effort  to 
have  you  under  my  charge  in  your  childhood. 
Sometimes  I  have  thought  that  things  might 
have  been  different  if  I  had.  Your  mother,  as 
you  know,  was  my  favorite  sister,  but  after  her 
death  your  father  and  I  drifted  apart,  never  hav- 
ing had  very  much  in  common,  so  that  when  he 
died  and  left  you  in  care  of  his  sister,  I  felt  no 
right  to  interfere,  though  I  dreaded  the  effect  of 
her  worldliness  on  your  inexperience.  Not  that 


ANNE   BLYTHE  45 

I  objected  to  her  being  a  woman  of  fashion  — 
quite  the  contrary.  I  have  always  felt  that  a 
knowledge  of  the  world  is  the  best  safeguard 
against  being  led  away  by  it.  The  crassest  world- 
liness  and  materialism  with  which  I  have  met 
have  not  been  among  the  very  poor  or  the  very 
rich,  but  in  the  temperate  zone  of  society,  in  the 
smaller  towns  and  among  people  of  moderate 
means,  like  your  Aunt  Fanny.  In  her  case  a 
large  ambition  and  a  small  income  went  as  badly 
together  as  a  great  empire  and  little  minds. 
They  combined  to  force  her  into  a  position  neither 
dignified  nor  commendable,  and  her  rejoicings 
over  your  marriage  with  the  son  of  a  rich  man 
went  far  beyond  the  bounds  of  good  taste,  and 
laid  both  her  and  you  open  to  severe  criticism. 
I  am  afraid  that  in  my  disapprobation  I  with- 
drew from  the  situation  too  abruptly  and  too  far. 
But  an  end  to  this  long  letter,  and  let  me  know 
when  to  expect  you. 

"  Affectionately  your  uncle, 

**  LAWRENCE  G.  ALSTON. 

"  P.S.     How  did  you  like  my  curate  ?  " 

When  Mrs.  Blythe  had  finished  reading,  she 
sat  for  some  time  musing,  her  head  resting  on 
her  hand.  At  length  she  drew  out  a  sheet  of 
black-crested  paper  and  began  a  response : 


46      FOUR  ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

"  DEAR  UNCLE  [she  wrote] :  I  am  impelled  to 
answer  your  letter  at  once,  to  tell  you  that  it  is 
as  you  foresaw.  I  am  left  heir  to  the  Blythe 
estate.  Certain  substantial  sums,  enough  to  look 
well  in  the  morning  papers  under  the  heading 
'  Beneficences  of  One  of  our  Leading  Million- 
aires,' are  left  to  charities.  A  hundred  thousand 
dollars  go  to  Tom  and  Eunice  Yates.  The 
rest  to  me,  under  a  restriction  which  does  not 
surprise  me  at  all.  In  case  of  my  marrying 
again,  the  terms  of  the  will  are  to  be  reversed. 
I  am  to  have  the  Yateses'  share,  and  they  mine. 
Somewhat  humiliating,  this  clause,  but  of  no 
practical  effect.  I  have  burned  my  fingers  once, 
and  shall  never  try  the  fire  of  matrimony  again. 
So  this  does  not  disturb  my  satisfaction. 

"/  mean  to  be  happy — I  wish  I  knew  how  to 
write  it  in  capitals  large  enough  to  express  the 
height  and  depth  of  my  intention.  There  is  not 
a  creature  in  the  world  to  whom  I  owe  any  par- 
ticular obligation,  so  I  shall  adopt  myself,  and  I 
intend  to  treat  myself  as  a  philanthropist  treats 
his  favorite  charity.  Thanks  for  your  invita- 
tion! Sometime  I  shall  be  delighted  to  ac- 
cept it;  but  just  at  present  I  am  thoroughly 
used  up  with  all  the  excitement  and  nervous 
strain  of  the  last  six  weeks, — indeed,  of  the  last 
six  years, — and  I  am  anxious  to  get  away  from 


ANNE  BLYTHE  47 

it  all  for  a  while,  to  put  a  space  of  actual  dis- 
tance, as  well  as  of  time,  between  me  and  my 
past;  so  I  am  arranging  to  sail  for  Europe  early 
in  June,  and  I  want  you  to  go  with  me  as  — 
whatever  is  the  masculine  of  chaperon. 

"  Tell  me  that  you  will,  there  's  a  dear! 

"  Don't  shake  your  mitered  locks  and  say  it  is 
impossible.  Even  a  bishop  owes  something  to 
family  ties,  and  all  your  churches  and  charges 
and  institutions  together  do  not  need  you  half  as 
much  as  I  do.  We  will  summer  on  the  coast 
of  France  in  a  dear  little  niche  of  the  Brittany 
coast  close  by  St.  Malo,  then  in  the  autumn 
we  '11  jog  along  down  to  Rome,  reserving  judg- 
ment on  Athens  and  Cairo.  In  the  spring  we  '11 
take  a  villa  at  Florence  for  a  while,  and  after 
that  you  shall  come  home  if  you  must.  Re- 
member I  count  upon  you,  and  meanwhile  be 
assured  that  you  know  no  one  more  in  need  of 
spiritual  advice  than 

"  Your  loving  niece, 

"ANNE  BLYTHE. 

"  P.S.  I  saw  your  young  curate  to-day  and 
was  quite  taken  by  surprise.  I  shall  make  a 
point  of  seeing  a  great  deal  of  him  when  we 
come  home." 

Her    letter    finished,    Anne    rang    for    the 


48      FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

brougham.  The  day  was  mild  and  lovely. 
Secretly  she  would  have  preferred  the  victoria; 
but  the  conventions  were  against  it.  As  it  was, 
the  open  windows  of  the  brougham  allowed  the 
soft  breezes  to  play  through  her  hair  and  cool 
her  hot  cheeks.  Care  for  the  time  withdrew, 
and  left  her  mind  open  to  all  the  influences  of 
the  moment.  As  the  carriage  entered  the  park, 
her  eyes  took  in  with  pleasure  the  line  of  nurses 
gossiping  in  groups  and  wheeling  the  baby-car- 
riages with  averted  heads.  A  turn  of  the  road 
brought  her  to  a  green  space  where  a  group  of 
boys  were  tossing  a  ball  to  and  fro ;  and  farther 
on,  joyous  shouts  drew  her  attention  to  a  May- 
party,  the  little  queen  leading  a  tumultuous  pro- 
cession insubordinate  to  her  mild  authority,  each 
child  bent  on  his  individual  enjoyment  regardless 
of  the  rest.  Only  one  conscientious  elder  sister 
held  fast  to  the  chubby  hand  of  the  littlest 
one,  dragging  reluctant  toes  along  the  rough 
asphalt. 

"  What  a  world  of  children  it  is ! "  thought 
Anne,  and  stifled  a  sigh  only  half  understood. 

Before  the  cross-road  at  McGown's  Pass  was 
reached,  the  fresh  air  had  raised  her  spirits  to 
such  a  degree  that  she  found  herself  humming 
softly  under  her  breath  the  tune  which  the  May- 
party  had  been  singing  as  she  passed : 


ANNE   BLYTHE  49 

«'  London  Bridge  is  falling  down, 

My  fair  lady! 

Build  it  up  with  bricks  and  stones, 
My  fair  lady!" 

London  Bridge  seemed  to  rise  before  her  as 
her  own  life.  It  was  lying  in  ruins  now ;  but  she 
would  build  it  up  again.  The  bricks  should  be 
of  gold,  and  its  walls  should  echo  with  mirth 
and  laughter. 

She  was  still  in  this  mood  of  slippery  exalta- 
tion when  the  carriage  drew  up  again  before  her 
own  door.  For  the  first  time  she  looked  up  at 
the  broad  expanse  of  brownstone  and  plate-glass 
with  a  thrill  of  pleasure  in  the  pride  of  owner- 
ship. It  had  been  a  prison ;  but  she  forgave  it 
its  past  in  the  promise  of  its  future. 

The  man  at  the  door  announced  that  some 
one  was  waiting  to  see  her  in  the  office.  As 
Mrs.  Blythe  walked  the  length  of  crimson-car- 
peted hall  she  gloried  in  being  ruler  of  her  fate, 
and  bestowed  a  moment's  pity  on  the  women 
whose  lives  were  inextricably  tangled  with  the 
sordid  and  the  commonplace.  Entering  the 
office,  she  found  herself  suddenly  face  to  face 
with  a  woman  whom  she  had  never  seen  before 
—  a  young  woman,  with  a  child  in  her  arms. 

Anne  Blythe's  heart  sank  with  a  strange  pre- 
monition of  coming  evil. 


IV 

THE    BEGINNING    OF    WISDOM 
"The  beginning  of  wisdom  is  the  desire  of  discipline. " 

WHEN  Blair  Fleming  came  home  from  his 
office  late  in  the  afternoon,  he  found 
awaiting  him  a  note  from  Mrs.  Blythe,  asking  that 
he  would  come  to  see  her  in  the  evening  on  im- 
portant business. 

He  and  Mrs.  Blythe  had  been  left  co-execu- 
tors and  trustees,  and  in  consequence  of  this 
summons  he  pondered  a  good  deal  on  matters 
connected  with  the  Blythe  estate,  as  he  assimilated 
a  brace  of  chops  and  absorbed  a  modest  pint  of 
claret  in  the  grill-room  of  the  club. 

Ordinarily  he  looked  upon  business  thoughts 
at  meal-times  as  nails  in  a  man's  coffin.  He 
made  a  point  of  dining  with  the  dullest  of  his 
fellow-clubmen  rather  than  run  the  risk  of  slip- 
ping into  the  mulling  habit  which  neither  relaxes 
nor  achieves. 

To-night,  however,  he  took  a  vacation  from 
5° 


THE   BEGINNING   OF   WISDOM     51 

his  resolutions.  He  deliberately  abandoned  the 
dining-room  and  its  companionship  for  the  soli- 
tude which  he  found  himself  able  to  secure  in 
the  grill-room.  Why  had  Mrs.  Blythe  sent  for 
him?  was  his  first  questioning  thought.  Not 
that  he  objected  to  the  summons  —  in  fact,  he 
had  intended  calling  this  evening  or  to-morrow ; 
but  he  knew  of  nothing  demanding  such  imme- 
diate attention,  unless,  as  seemed  not  improb- 
able, she  wished  to  announce  her  coming  mar- 
riage and  to  seek  his  advice  as  to  her  rights 
under  the  will.  Fleming  suspected  that  she 
had  some  cause  to  fear  friction,  as  Yates  had  the 
reputation  downtown  of  being  a  difficult  man  to 
deal  with.  Indeed,  this  reputation  of  his  as  a 
hard  business  man  had  led  Fleming  to  anticipate 
some  suggestion  of  protest  against  the  will,  and 
he  often  wondered  if  Yates  and  his  sister  were 
planning  anything  of  the  kind.  Perhaps  Yates 
had  in  mind  the  possibility  of  marrying  Mrs. 
Blythe  himself.  That  had  not  occurred  to 
Fleming's  mind  before ;  but,  once  admitted,  it 
offered  many  possibilities.  The  question  of  most 
interest  then  would  become,  What  were  Mrs. 
Blythe's  views'?  He  hoped  that  this  evening 
would  carry  some  enlightenment  on  the  subject, 
and  he  looked  forward  with  interest  and  amused 
curiosity  to  the  coming  interview. 


52     FOUR    ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

It  was  nine  o'clock  when  he  reached  the 
house.  He  found  Mrs.  Blythe  waiting  for  him 
in  the  library.  A  twisted  dragon  in  Japanese 
bronze  held  up  a  softly  shaded  electric  lamp  on 
the  study  table,  and  a  low  fire  flamed  on  the 
hearth,  sputtering  now  and  then  as  if  in  anger  at 
the  damp  chill  of  the  evening  outside. 

Fleming  noticed  as  he  entered  that  Mrs. 
Blythe  was  looking  pale  and  worn  and  worried 
in  spite  of  the  forced  smile  with  which  she  rose 
to  greet  him.  There  was  no  suggestion  of  bridal 
happiness,  no  blushes;  rather  a  preoccupation  so 
deep  as  to  be  scarcely  broken  by  Fleming's  en- 
trance. It  was  with  an  evident  effort  that  she 
compelled  herself  to  the  opening  civilities  of 
greeting. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  trouble  you  with  business  in 
your  evening  hours — " 

"  Not  at  all ;  I  had  intended  to  come  before  I 
had  your  note.  You  have  read  the  will  I  sent 
you?" 

"Thank  you.     Yes,  I  have  read  the  will." 

"  It  is  an  unusual  will  —  in  fact,  confidentially, 
let  me  say  it  is  a  beastly  will.  I  tried  my  best 
to  induce  Mr.  Blythe  to  draw  it  differently;  but  he 
was  not  easy  to  influence,  as  you  perhaps  know." 

Anne  shrugged  her  shoulders.  Alas!  did  she 
not  know  it  only  too  well  *? 


THE   BEGINNING   OF   WISDOM     53 

"That  clause  in  regard  to  your  marrying  —  " 

"  Never  mind,"  said  Anne,  wearily ;  "  I  have 
no  intention  of  marrying,  so  it  all  makes  very 
little  difference  to  me." 

"Ah,"  thought  Fleming,  "so  the  Yates  mar- 
riage is  not  a  live  hypothesis." 

"  Pardon  me,  Mrs.  Blythe,"  he  said  aloud, 
"  but  this  is  a  matter  about  which  I  feel  that  I 
must  speak  freely,  though  I  realize  how  distaste- 
ful it  may  be  to  you.  You  have  done  me  the 
honor  to  make  me  your  counsel,  and  I  should 
not  be  doing  my  duty  if  I  did  not  point  out  to 
you  all  the  possibilities  that  lie  before  you.  It 
is  entirely  natural  that  you  should  not  at  present 
think  of  marriage  as  one  of  these  possibilities ;  but 
you  are  a  young  woman,  and  the  future  may 
hold  many  things  —  " 

"  Not  that." 

"  Perhaps  not ;  but  the  question  is  whether  it 
would  not  be  wise  to  put  yourself  in  a  position 
where  you  are  wholly  free  to  decide  the  matter, 
if  it  should  come  up,  with  no  hampering  restric- 
tions." 

Anne  drew  her  finger-tips  wearily  across  her 
forehead. 

"  I  suppose  I  am  very  dull,  but  I  don't  see 
what  you  mean." 

"  I  mean  just  this,  and  please  understand  that 


54      FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

it  is  not  my  advice,  but  only  the  opening  of  the 
question  whether  you  would  prefer  a  compromise 
by  which  you  agree  to  some  sort  of  division  with 
Mr.  Yates  and  his  sister,  and  they  agree  to  make 
no  further  claim." 

Anne  sat  up  very  straight.  The  impetuous 
color  rose  in  her  cheeks,  and  the  climbing  fire- 
light, touching,  made  it  brighter  still. 

"  I  see  no  reason  why  I  should  give  part  of 
my  property  to  the  Yateses.  As  for  marrying, 
I  have  no  such  intention.  I  have  seen  enough 
of  it." 

Fleming,  finding  speech  difficult,  took  refuge 
in  silence,  looking  down  at  the  seal  on  his  fob 
and  withdrawing  himself  from  the  situation. 

Mrs.  Blythe  began  again,  with  a  little  less  em- 
phasis :  "  Perhaps  if  I  should  change  my  mind 
later,  why,  then  —  " 

Fleming  shook  his  head. 

"  Yates  is  an  obstinate  man,"  he  said,  "  obsti- 
nate and  shrewd.  He  will  watch  you  closely, 
and  he  will  not  hesitate  to  put  on  the  screws  if 
he  gets  the  chance." 

Anne  colored  faintly. 

"  I  don't  think  I  have  anything  to  fear  from 
Tom.  Now,  Eunice  —  do  you  know  Eunice 
Yates  at  all?" 

"I  have  met  her,  I   think,  though  all  I  re- 


THE   BEGINNING   OF   WISDOM     55 

member  is  a  Madonna  face  and  a  manner  that 
matched  it." 

"  Oh,  yes,  Eunice  would  never  wear  a  manner 
that  did  n't  match ;  but  somehow  I  prefer  Tom 
with  all  his  —  his  —  oh,  well,  you  know  what  I 
mean." 

Fleming  was  good  at  drawing  inferences,  and 
rapidly  made  his  deductions  now. 

"  Yates  is  in  love  with  her;  his  sister  objects. 
Mrs.  Blythe  may  marry  him,  but  she  's  not  in 
love."  Naturally  he  did  not  put  these  thoughts 
into  words.  He  only  looked  his  comprehension. 
His  conversation  usually  had  an  interest  quite 
apart  from  the  thing  said,  in  the  sense  of  rela- 
tions established.  Anne  felt  it  now,  and  yet  was 
conscious  of  no  desire  to  burst  into  confidences 
as  she  had  done  with  Walford.  There  was  a 
restraint  in  his  sympathy,  as  if  it  said:  "Tell 
me  everything  that  I  need  to  know,  but  nothing 
for  which  you  will  be  sorry  afterward." 

"  Thank  you  for  calling  my  attention  to  this 
question,"  Anne  went  on  in  a  moment.  "  I  shall 
take  it  up  later.  Of  course,  too,  I  should  not  act 
in  such  a  matter  without  your  advice ;  but  there 
is  plenty  of  time  to  go  over  all  that  later.  Just 
now  there  is  something  more  pressing,  something 
about  which  I  feel  that  I  must  consult  you  at  once. 
That  is  my  excuse  for  sending  for  you  to-night." 


56      FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

Anne  hesitated ;  but  Fleming  could  not  help 
her,  and  kept  silence.  At  length  she  went  on : 
"  A  woman  came  to  see  me  this  afternoon.  She 
had  a  child  with  her.  She  said  it  was  my  hus- 
band's." 

A  deep,  painful  flush  swept  up  to  Anne's 
hair.  Fleming  turned  away  his  eyes,  and  finally 
rose  and  took  a  turn  or  two  up  and  down  the 
room.  When  he  came  back  he  stood  looking 
down  into  the  fire  with  his  elbow  on  the  mantel. 

"  Insolent ! "  he  murmured ;  then  aloud  : 
*  Surely  you  did  not  waste  a  thought  over  one 
of  those  impostors  who  make  a  regular  business 
of  following  up  the  funerals  of  rich  men  with 
demands  and  accusations'?" 

"  Her  story  is  true  —  at  least,  I  think  so.  The 
child  is  like  him,  and  she  has  letters — " 

It  was  spoken  impassively  and  in  one  key, 
like  a  lesson  learned  by  rote. 

"  If  it  is  true,"  Fleming's  calm  voice  struck 
in,  "  what  then  *?  We  will  not  believe  her  story 
till  it  is  proved  to  the  utmost,  and  even  then, 
what  claim  has  she  *?  " 

Anne  made  a  little  gesture  of  dissent. 

"  I  have  said  the  same  thing  over  and  over  to 
myself;  but  her  story  is  true,  and  I  shall  have  to 
do  something." 

"Of  course  you  will  wish  to  do  your  duty,'* 


THE   BEGINNING   OF  WISDOM     57 

Fleming  began ;  but  Anne  interrupted  him  scorn- 
fully: 

"  Duty !  I  detest  doing  my  duty.  It  means 
making  myself  unhappy  in  order  to  make  some 
one  else  happy,  and  there  's  no  philosophy  in 
it,  for  really  if  only  one  can  be  happy,  it  might 
as  well  be  I  as  the  other  one." 

"  That  seems  a  sound  proposition."  As  Flem- 
ing made  this  remark,  he  was  conscious  of  re- 
sisting a  temptation  to  smile. 

"  Oh,  I  know,"  Anne  went  on,  "  many  women 
have  to  meet  these  things ;  but,  you  see,  I  do  so 
want  to  be  happy !  I  thought  at  last  I  was  go- 
ing to  be.  I  was  happy  this  very  afternoon ;  but 
I  came  in  from  my  drive  to  find  this  woman 
waiting  for  me,  and  ever  since  I  've  been  miser- 
able." As  she  said  this  she  leaned  forward, 
clasping  her  hands  in  her  eagerness,  her  lips 
apart,  like  a  child  seeking  sympathy. 

Fleming  realized  that  a  complication  had 
arisen.  Hitherto  Mrs.  Blythe  had  been  to  him 
simply  a  client,  to  be  advised  on  the  legal  aspect 
of  her  affairs;  now  he  felt  suddenly  that  he  was 
called  to  deal  with  a  human  soul,  full  of  blind 
impulses  and  likely  to  turn  to  him  for  guid- 
ance. On  the  whole,  he  did  not  like  it.  His 
indomitable  cheerfulness  had  survived  the  draw- 
ing of  many  blanks  in  the  lottery  of  life ;  but  he 


58     FOUR  ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

had  reached  a  point  where  he  felt  that  he  needed 
all  his  courage  for  himself,  and  was  less  prodigal 
of  sympathy  than  he  might  have  been  ten  years 
before.  "  Bear  ye  your  own  burdens  "  was  his 
rendering  of  Scripture. 

In  his  desire  to  shake  himself  free  from  all  but 
professional  relations  to  the  situation,  he  returned 
somewhat  abruptly  to  the  subject  under  discussion. 

"  What  did  this  woman  give  as  her  name  ?  " 

"Jaudon  —  Rene"e  Jaudon.  Her  father,  she 
said,  had  been  an  officer  in  the  French  army, 
and  she  had  worked  to  support  him  till  —  till 
she  met  my  husband." 

"  A  familiar  story  !  We  lawyers  grow  rather 
fatigued  with  hearing  of  the  superhuman  virtue 
which  has  always  characterized  the  careers  of 
these  women  up  to  the  time  of  their  '  misfor- 
tunes,' as  they  call  them." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  care  anything  about  her,  or 
whether  her  story  is  true  or  false,  except  so  far 
as  it  concerns  the  child.  I  have  no  sympathy 
whatever  with  her.  No  matter  what  her  troubles 
have  been,  they  were  of  her  own  making." 

So  spoke  Anne  the  Pharisee,  quite  forgetful 
of  the  tears  which  had  bedewed  her  handker- 
chief and  the  sympathy  which  she  had  demanded 
of  Walford  this  afternoon  for  woes  equally  of 
her  own  making. 


THE   BEGINNING   OF   WISDOM    59 

"  She  asked  for  money,  of  course,"  said  Flem- 
ing. 

"  Yes ;  she  said  it  seemed  hard  that  with  a 
great  fortune  like  this,  the  grandson,  the  only 
grandson,"  —  Anne  laid  bitter  stress  on  the  word, 
—  "should  have  none  of  it  —  that  people  might 
say—" 

"  Ah,"  Fleming  repeated,  **  *  people  might 
say.'  She  said  that,  did  she  ?  That  looks  as  if 
blackmail  were  her  game.  Have  you  made  up 
your  mind  what  you  wish  to  do?  Have  you 
any  plan  ?  " 

"  No  —  not  really.  There  seem  to  be  so  many 
objections  to  everything.  My  first  thought  was 
to  give  the  woman  ten  thousand  dollars,  on  con- 
dition that  I  never  saw  her  face  again." 

"  Give  a  woman  like  that  ten  thousand  dol- 
lars, and  you  may  be  very  sure  that  you  would  see 
her  face  again  as  soon  as  the  money  was  gone." 

"  Yes,  and  then  it  would  n't  do  the  child  any 
good,"  said  Anne;  "and  if  I  have  a  responsi- 
bility, it  is  to  the  child." 

"  As  for  the  child,"  Fleming  said,  deliberating, 
"  I  think  we  must  get  that  away  at  once.  It  is 
a  powerful  weapon  in  her  hands  and  always  to 
be  feared.  The  mother  might  be  made  to  sign 
papers  renouncing  all  claim  to  the  child;  but 
what  then  ?  " 


60      FOUR  ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

"  Yes,"  said  Anne,  "  that  's  just  the  question : 
what  then  *?  " 

"  I  think,  Mrs.  Blythe,"  said  Fleming,  "  that 
this  is  a  matter  in  which  there  is  great  danger 
in  haste.  Naturally  you  are  overwrought  from 
this  afternoon  and  in  no  condition  to  come  to 
any  important  decision,  least  of  all  such  a  far- 
reaching  one  as  this." 

Anne  found  a  curious  comfort  in  studying 
Fleming  as  he  stood  there  before  her.  In  his 
careful  evening  dress,  with  his  tranquil  manner 
and  his  unstressed  speech,  he  seemed  a  solid 
reminder  that  the  world  was  moving  along  in 
the  old  accustomed  grooves,  while  this  afternoon 
she  had  felt  as  if  she  were  the  victim  of  a  cata- 
clysm which  had  shaken  life  to  its  foundations. 

Her  nerves  calmed  themselves  and  her  voice 
returned  to  its  normal  key,  as  she  motioned 
Fleming  to  a  chair,  saying : 

"  What  would  you  advise  me  to  do  *?  " 

Fleming  kept  silence  for  some  time,  his  head 
bent  and  his  forehead  in  a  meditative  pucker. 
At  last  he  spoke : 

"  I  cannot  answer  at  once.  I  shall  have  to 
think  it  over.  Here  we  have  been  talking  as  if 
everything  were  proved;  but  it  is  easy  to  be 
cheated  in  such  a  matter.  You  have  seen  the 
woman  only  once.  She  may  have  taken  advan- 


THE   BEGINNING   OF   WISDOM    61 

tage  of  a  chance  resemblance.  No  *?  Well,  at 
least  we  will  investigate,  have  her  story  thor- 
oughly sifted;  and  if,  in  the  end,  all  is  as  she 
says,  we  may  arrange  some  system  of  periodical 
payments  dependent  on  her  silence.  But  two 
things  we  must  get  from  her  before  you  give  her 
a  dollar  —  the  child  and  the  bundle  of  letters." 

*•  The  letters  ?  I  don't  care  about  them,"  she 
said. 

''That  again  you  cannot  judge  about  to-night. 
The  time  may  come  when  you  will  care,  and  she 
will  surely  use  them  to  annoy  you ;  but  I  will 
see  to  that. " 

"  Thank  you.     You  are  very  good." 

"  Good  ?  Not  at  all.  Remember  one  thing, 
my  dear  Mrs.  Blythe :  I  am  here  to  meet  all  the 
disagreeable  things  which  may  need  to  be  said  or 
done.  That  is  what  you  have  me  for.  As  for 
this  —  this  person,  it  is  not  decent  that  you  should 
have  to  talk  with  her,  and  you  need  n't ;  I  am  sure 
you  need  n't,  except  for  some  necessary  signing  of 
papers,  perhaps,  at  the  end.  Send  her  to  me,  and 
don't  worry." 

Anne  held  out  her  hand  cordially  as  Fleming 
rose  to  take  leave,  and  there  was  a  distinctly  per- 
sonal note  in  her  voice  as  she  bade  him  good  night. 

Fleming,  on  his  part,  had  an  equally  keen 
consciousness  of  new  relations  established,  and 


62      FOUR  ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

he  was  by  no  means  wholly  pleased.  Why  had 
he  told  her  not  to  worry?  he  asked  himself. 
Why  should  n't  she  worry?  And  why  should 
she,  a  grown  woman,  put  in  this  ridiculous  claim 
against  Fate  for  happiness?  Probably  the  thing 
she  needed  most  was  a  taste  of  unhappiness,  a 
sharp  experience  to  show  her  what  life  really 
was  to  nine  tenths  of  humanity.  Some  great 
sorrow  might  stir  the  depths ;  but,  poor  thing,  no 
one  likes  muddy  waters  any  better  because  it  is 
an  angel  who  has  troubled  them,  and  one  could 
see  that  Mrs.  Blythe  would  make  a  hard  fight 
before  she  submitted  to  any  discipline  involving 
unhappiness.  Perhaps  a  great  affection  —  now 
if  this  child  had  been  hers  — 

Here  Fleming's  thoughts  drifted  off  to  the 
legal  aspects  of  the  situation,  on  which  he  pon- 
dered as  he  strolled  toward  his  club  through  the 
fine  drizzle  of  rain  which  had  taken  the  place  of 
the  balmy  weather  of  the  daytime. 

They  would  be  very  lucky,  he  decided,  if  this 
woman,  this  Renee  Jaudon,  were  satisfied  to  pro- 
claim herself  Blythe's  mistress.  Of  course  the 
scandal  would  be  unpleasant  for  Mrs.  Blythe, 
particularly  if  she  had  social  aspirations ;  but  if 
the  woman  undertook  to  claim  a  common-law 
marriage  and  set  it  previous  to  Mrs.  Blythe's, 
then  there  would  be  an  awkwardness. 


THE   BEGINNING   OF   WISDOM     63 

So  intent  was  he  on  his  thoughts  that  he  found 
himself  under  the  nose  of  a  cab-horse  at  the 
crossing,  and  saved  himself  only  by  reaching  up 
and  jerking  violently  at  the  bridle.  The  cabman 
swore  at  his  inattention;  but  he  paid  little  heed, 
and  fell  again  into  considering  the  question  of 
Mrs.  Blythe's  marriage.  Her  denial  of  any  such 
intention  counted  for  very  little  in  his  mind.  She 
was  charming,  therefore  sure  to  have  lovers;  she 
was  sympathetic  and  impressionable,  therefore 
sure  to  respond  to  the  love  of  some  one  of  them. 
The  question  was,  Who  would  it  be  —  Yates  *? 

At  present  that  looked  impossible.  But  Flem- 
ing was  accustomed  to  seeing  impossible  mar- 
riages take  place ;  moreover,  the  bluff  and  burly 
bearing  of  a  man  like  Yates  might  in  time  im- 
press a  high-strung,  nervous  organization  like 
Mrs.  Blythe's  by  the  mere  law  of  opposite  attrac- 
tions. Of  course  such  a  marriage  would  be  the 
end  of  any  development  for  her. 

Never  did  a  philosopher  speak  truer  word 
than  that  a  woman's  life  is  made  by  the  love 
which  she  accepts.  If  Mrs.  Blythe  accepted 
Yates's,  it  was  easy  to  fancy  her,  at  middle  age, 
one  of  those  women  who  find  the  provincial  suc- 
cesses of  social  New  York  soul-satisfying.  It 
would  be  a  pity,  Fleming  thought,  for  that  quick 
flash  of  intelligence  in  her  eye  told  of  limitless 


64      FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

capacity  of  response  to  influence.     If  it  could 
only  be  the  right  influence  ! 

Then  he  ran  over  in  his  mind  the  men  of  his 
acquaintance,  searching  who  might  be  the  one 
for  Anne  Blythe's  husband.  As  rapidly  as  sug- 
gested, they  were  rejected,  and  he  found  himself 
driven  back  upon  an  ideal.  This  man  of  his 
imagination,  he  decided,  should  have  youth  and 
buoyancy  and  temperament,  but  under  all  a  firm 
substratum  of  common  sense  and  balance.  That 
was  what  Mrs.  Blythe  needed  more  than  any- 
thing else,  balance  —  But  what  would  she  do 
about  the  child?  Here  his  speculations  ended 
as  he  furled  his  umbrella  at  the  steps  of  the 
club. 


OUTWARD    BOUND 

"  The  past  it  clean  forgot 
The  present  is  and  is  not, 
The  future  *i  a  sealed  seed-plot, 
And  what  betwixt  them  are  we  ?'* 

THE  weather  was  hot  and  sultry,  hinting  of 
August,  though  it  was  only  the  middle 
of  June.  A  gentle  breath  of  air  from  the  river 
tempered  the  heat  on  the  pier  where  the  steamer, 
on  which  Mrs.  Blythe  and  her  uncle  had  taken 
passage,  was  making  ready  for  her  outward  trip. 
The  surface  of  the  water  was  of  mirrorlike 
smoothness.  It  was  hard  to  realize  that  the 
vexed  Atlantic  was  tumbling  outside  the  bar  of 
Sandy  Hook. 

Everything  was  bustle  and  confusion  at  the 
dock  and  on  the  vessel,  except  among  the  vet- 
eran travelers  to  whom  an  ocean  steamer  had 
come  to  seem  only  a  ferryboat  plying  between 
commonplace  and  commonplace.  Bishop  Alston 

65 


66      FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

was  one  of  these;  but  to  Mrs.  Blythe  the  delight 
of  travel  had  not  yet  been  dulled  by  the  com- 
monizing  touch  of  long  experience.  To  her  the 
steamer  was  like  some  live  creature,  a  Europa's 
bull  bearing  her  to  enchanted  shores  where  Span- 
ish castles  rose  on  every  cliff. 

Just  now  she  was  standing  by  the  rail  on  the 
upper  deck  with  Blair  Fleming,  who  held  a 
bundle  of  papers  in  his  hand. 

"  Here  are  the  letters,"  he  said.  "  I  secured 
them  only  this  morning.  I  did  not  like  to  take 
the  risk  of  sending  them,  so  I  brought  them  my- 
self." 

Mrs.  Blythe  made  no  motion  to  take  them 
from  Fleming's  outstretched  hand. 

"  I  shall  ask  of  you  one  more  favor,"  she  said. 

"  You  have  only  to  name  it." 

"  Burn  them  for  me." 

Fleming  looked  down  in  some  embarrass- 
ment. 

"  Pardon  me,  but  as  a  measure  of  protection 
they  should  be  read  first.  It  is  only  common 
prudence." 

"  I  cannot  do  it,"  Mrs.  Blythe  answered,  with 
emphasis.  "  I  simply  cannot.  Would  it  be 
asking  too  much  —  that  you  —  that  some  one 
should  do  it  for  me?" 

Fleming  looked  up  gravely. 


OUTWARD   BOUND  67 

"  I  will  do  it,  if  it  is  your  wish." 

"  I  never  can  thank  you  enough !  For  me  it 
would  be  like  pouring  vinegar  into  a  wound. 
Oh,  you  don't  know  —  you  can't!" 

Fleming  felt  that  he  would  have  been  glad  to 
follow  Dick  Blythe  to  Tartarus  for  the  privilege 
of  inflicting  corporal  punishment;  but  he  could 
not  put  his  feelings  into  words,  so  he  said 
nothing. 

Mrs.  Blythe  drew  a  long  breath. 

"  I  have  one  very  unfortunate  possession,"  she 
said. 

"  And  that  is  ?  " 

"  An  excellent  memory."  Then  after  a  pause, 
"  It  is  so  easy  to  forgive  when  you  have  for- 
gotten ! " 

"Perhaps,"  said  Fleming,  looking  carefully 
away  from  Anne  and  fixing  his  eyes  on  the  New 
Jersey  shore  — "  perhaps  it  is  easier  to  forget 
when  we  have  forgiven." 

Anne  heard  him  absently. 

"  Sometimes,"  she  said,  with  a  sigh,  "  the  past 
seems  just  as  the  dark  used  to  when  I  was  a  small 
child.  That  is  one  reason  why  I  am  so  glad  to 
get  away  from  America." 

"  But  Europe  is  all  past" 

"  Not  my  past ! " 

"No." 

3 


68    FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

"  And  that  makes  all  the  difference." 

"  I  suppose  it  does.  I  had  n't  thought  of 
that." 

Mrs.  Blythe  was  silent  for  a  while,  watching 
the  crowd  thronging  over  the  gangway.  At  last 
she  said,  as  if  going  on  with  a  subject  which  she 
could  not  dismiss  from  her  mind: 

"  Was  the  girl's  story  true  ?  " 

"  Substantially,  so  far  as  I  can  trace  it.  She 
supported  her  father  by  working  in  a  book- 
bindery  supplied  with  leather  by  Mr.  Blythe's 
firm." 

"  I  can  imagine  the  rest,"  said  Anne,  with  a 
tremble  in  her  voice.  "  And  did  she  make  any 
difficulties  over  the  settlement  ?  " 

Fleming  shook  his  head  with  cynical  empha- 
sis. "Two  hundred  dollars  a  month  for  three 
years  seems  to  her  a  fortune,  and  she  is  more 
than  willing,  in  consideration  of  it,  to  renounce 
all  claims.  As  to  parting  with  the  child,  it  does 
not  seem  to  trouble  her.  You  see,  that  enables 
her  to  go  back  to  her  father,  who  fancies  that  she 
has  been  in  France  all  these  years." 

"And  the  child?" 

"  Everything  is  arranged  as  you  desired.  It  is 
to  be  cared  for  by  the  Sisters  of  St.  Clara  for  a 
year,  and  at  the  end  of  that  time  you  are  to 
decide  what  shall  be  done  with  it.  They  con- 


OUTWARD   BOUND  69 

sidered  the  terms  which  you  offered  liberal;  but 
they  stipulated  that  they  should  have  no  responsi- 
bility after  the  end  of  the  year." 

*'  Well,  well,"  exclaimed  Anne,  shaking  her 
head  like  a  thoroughbred  horse  teased  beyond 
endurance  by  some  pestilent  insect,  "  let  us  for- 
get about  it !  A  year  is  a  long  time.  Perhaps 
the  child  may  die." 

Fleming  wished  that  she  had  not  said  it,  and 
then  wondered  why  he  cared.  Looking  up,  he 
saw  Stuart  Walford  waiting  his  opportunity  for 
a  word  with  Mrs.  Blythe.  At  the  same  moment 
Bishop  Alston  approached  from  the  opposite 
direction,  holding  by  the  arm  a  white-haired 
clergyman.  Walford  and  Fleming  withdrew. 

"  Here  is  Dr.  Milner,  Anne,  come  to  see  us 
off,"  the  Bishop  said,  advancing. 

"  How  very  good  in  you !  But  you  don't 
look  well  enough  to  have  come,"  Anne  ex- 
claimed, moving  forward  toward  the  aged  rector. 

Milner  was  a  striking  man  still,  and  looked 
handsome  even  standing  as  he  was  in  contrast  to 
Mrs.  Blythe's  radiant  youthfulness.  The  beauty 
of  youth  is  an  ivory  type,  all  curves  and  color- 
ing ;  the  beauty  of  age  is  an  etching  bitten  out 
by  the  acids  of  time  and  experience. 

"  Yes,  Milner,"  the  Bishop  said,  repeating 
Anne's  words,  "  you  don't  look  fit  to  stand  the 


yo      FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

heat  here.  Why  don't  you  run  across  the  water 
yourself  this  summer  ?  It  will  not  do  to  neglect 
your  health.  A  stitch  in  time,  you  know." 

**  But  I  have  so  many  stitches  loose  and  so 
little  time  left ! "  answered  Milner,  rather  sadly. 
"  My  doctor  does  not  speak  encouragingly.  But 
no  matter.  One  more  or  less  does  not  count 
except  to  himself.  If  I  am  not  better  by  next 
summer,  I  shall  give  up  my  work  permanently, 
and  then  it  will  be  time  to  talk  of  rest  and 
Europe." 

"  I  don't  like  to  hear  you  speak  in  that  way," 
the  Bishop  answered  gravely.  "  You  are  one 
of  the  important  men.  We  can't  do  without 
you." 

Milner  smiled.  "  After  all,  flattery  can  'soothe 
the  dull,  cold  ear  of  death,' "  he  answered,  "  and 
I  should  like  to  think  at  the  end  that  I  was  being 
missed  by  a  few.  I  believe,  however,  that  I  have 
found  the  man  to  take  up  my  work  when  I  leave 
it,  and  carry  it  further  than  I  could  ever  do.  He 
is  very  young;  but  he  has  the  promise  and  po- 
tency of  a  career  in  him.  By  the  way,  I  owe 
him  to  you,  Bishop." 

"Is  it  Stuart  Walford?" 

At  her  uncle's  question,  Anne  looked  up 
quickly  and  waited  for  Dr.  Milner's  reply. 

"  Yes,  it  is  Stuart  Walford.      I   have   been 


OUTWARD   BOUND  71 

pushing  him  forward  in  all  directions,  giving 
him  a  chance  to  show  what  he  is  good  for,  and 
he  improves  every  opportunity.  It  seems  in- 
credible that  a  young,  untried  man  could  do 
what  he  has  done,  and  in  less  than  a  year  at  that. 
In  fact,  I  have  no  hesitation  in  predicting  a 
brilliant  future  for  him." 

"  Really  ?  "  said  the  Bishop. 

"Yes,  really.  He  is  an  eloquent  preacher 
already,  not  on  the  curate  order  at  all.  He  has 
force,  magnetism,  and  the  organizing  power 
which  we  need  more  than  anything  else  in 
the  church  to-day.  He  may  accomplish  great 
things  if — " 

"  If  what  *?  "  asked  Mrs.  Blythe,  suddenly. 

"  Pardon  me,  Mrs.  Blythe,  when  I  say  if  the 
women  will  let  him  alone.  He  is  young  and 
handsome,  and  they  find  it  easy  to  slide  into 
a  sympathetic,  confidential  relation  with  their 
spiritual  adviser.  I  don't  know  that  it  does  them 
any  harm,  but  I  am  not  sure  whether  his  head  is 
strong  enough  to  stand  it." 

Anne  had  seen  Mr.  Walford  several  times  since 
that  first  interview,  and  she  realized  that  the  con- 
versation on  each  occasion  had  been  distinctly 
sympathetic  and  confidential. 

"  Is  Walford  an  ambitious  man  ?  "  the  Bishop 
asked. 


72     FOUR  ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

"He  has  never  spoken  —  at  least  not  to  me  — 
of  any  definite  ambition,  but  I  can  see  that  he 
craves  influence, —  perhaps  all  of  us  do, —  and  he 
said  the  other  day  that  he  thought  the  rector  of 
a  great  New  York  church  occupied  the  most 
desirable  position  in  the  world.  He  would  be 
quite  satisfied  with  that,  he  said." 

"  Oh,  he  did  !  "  the  Bishop  began,  when  Mil- 
ner  said,  "  Here  he  is  now."  And  turning,  Anne 
saw  Walford  still  standing  near  the  head  of  the 
gangway.  He  hesitated  for  an  instant  before 
joining  the  group. 

For  some  reason  it  embarrassed  him  to  meet 
these  three  people  together,  perhaps  because  his 
temperament  was  sensitive  and  he  was  aware 
of  a  complex  relation,  somewhat  imcompatible 
and  demanding  different  treatment.  Dr.  Milner 
turned  to  talk  with  Anne,  and  left  Walford  to 
explain  to  the  Bishop  how  surprised  he  had  been 
to  learn  of  his  connection  with  Mrs.  Blythe  and 
how  deeply  he  appreciated  and  always  should 
appreciate  the  kindness  which  the  Bishop  had 
shown  him. 

"And  your  resolution  —  does  it  still  hold 
firm  *?  "  asked  the  Bishop,  and  suddenly  remem- 
bered that  he  had  desired  Walford  to  say  nothing 
on  the  subject  to  him  till  the  eighteen  months 
had  expired. 


OUTWARD   BOUND  73 

"  There  is  my  man ! "  he  exclaimed,  glad  of" 
an  escape  from  the  subject.  "  He  is  mounting 
guard  over  my  rug  and  steamer-chair.  If  you 
will  excuse  me,  I  '11  go  and  show  him  where  to 
place  them." 

As  the  Bishop  moved  away,  Milner  was 
making  his  adieus  to  Anne,  and  Walford  took 
possession  of  the  vacant  place  by  her  side. 

"  You  are  planning  to  be  gone  for  a  year." 

"  Almost  that,  I  fancy." 

"  A  year  is  a  long  time." 

.  "  To  look  ahead,  yes ;  but  when  we  look  back 
it  seems  a  mere  nothing  —  perhaps  because  all 
the  unimportant  things  drop  out." 

"  And  the  unimportant  people,  too  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  but  it  is  hard  to  tell  who  the  unim- 
portant people  are.  Importance  is  such  a  varia- 
ble quantity." 

"  Can  people  make  themselves  important  to 
you  ?  "  Walford  spoke  low  and  with  a  vibrant 
intensity. 

"  I  must  first  of  all  feel  that  I  am  important  to 
them." 

"  Then  I  need  not  ask  you  not  to  forget  me." 

"  I  shall  remember  you  as  long — well,  certainly 
as  long  as  the  fragrance  of  these  violets  lasts." 

It  was  a  deft  allusion,  for  the  flowers  which 
she  wore  had  been  sent  by  Walford. 


74      FOUR  ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

"  But  in  a  year  the  fragrance  will  be  gone,  and 
the  violets  withered,  and  your  friends  perhaps 
forgotten." 

"  Yes,"  said  Anne,  with  a  smile  of  doubtful 
interpretation;  "but  then  I  shall  come  back, 
and  I  shall  have  a  chance  to  find  out  your  im- 
portance all  over  again.  That  is  one  of  the  de- 
lights of  travel  —  to  come  home  and  rediscover 
one's  friends." 

Walford  colored.  He  felt  that  he  must  open 
his  heart  to  her;  must  tell  her  that  when  she 
came  back  she  would  find  his  place  empty ;  that 
never  again  in  all  the  world  should  they  stand 
as  they  were  standing  now,  face  to  face,  eye  to 
eye.  Then  there  flashed  before  him  that  picture 
in  the  Blythe  drawing-room,  and  he  deeply  com- 
prehended the  sensations  of  the  young  novice  so 
soon  to  be  dead  to  the  world. 

He  gathered  his  courage  and  opened  his  lips 
to  speak ;  but  Anne  had  mistaken  the  motive  of 
the  silence  he  had  allowed  to  fall  between  them. 
He  thought  her  ungrateful  for  the  sympathy  that 
he  had  shown  her.  She  could  not  go  away  leav- 
ing him  under  that  impression.  She  raised  her 
eyes  full  to  his,  and  said  softly :  "  I  have  more 
than  violets  to  thank  you  for :  I  assure  you  I  can 
never  forget  all  I  have  owed  to  you  in  these  last 
few  weeks.  I  shall  never  cease  to  be  grateful." 


OUTWARD  BOUND  75- 

"Don't  talk  of  gratitude,  please  don't  —  not 
from  you  to  me ! " 

Walford  had  moved  closer  to  Mrs.  Blythe  as 
he  spoke,  and  had  taken  her  hand  impulsively 
in  his. 

"  Anne,"  broke  in  the  Bishop's  voice,  "  I  want 
you  to  know  Lady  Hawtree  Campbell.  That  is 
she  talking  with  Mr.  Fleming  there  by  the  rail- 
ing. She  and  her  husband  are  on  board,  with 
four  of  their  daughters.  They  were  very  kind 
to  me  when  I  was  in  Derbyshire." 

44  How  many  daughters  have  they  left  at 
home  ?  "  asked  Anne,  petulantly. 

"  Hush  !  they  will  hear  you.  That  is  one  of 
them  with  the  dog  in  her  arms  and  her  hair  tum- 
bling down." 

"  Oh,  is  it  *?  Well,  why  won't  there  be  plenty 
of  time  for  us  to  meet  on  our  way  across  the 
ocean  ?  However,  if  I  must,  I  must.  Will  you 
come  too,  Mr.  Walford  ?  " 

"  No ;  I  'd  rather  say  good-by  now,  though  I 
shall  wait  on  the  pier  till  you  are  fairly  off." 
With  this  Walford  touched  her  hand  again,  but 
more  lightly,  bowed  to  Bishop  Alston,  and  was 
gone,  Anne's  eyes  following  him  until  he  was 
quite  out  of  sight  and  lost  in  the  crowd. 

"  By  the  way,"  said  the  Bishop,  "  here  's  a  note 
for  you.  A  messenger  just  left  it  with  me." 


76     FOUR  ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

Anne  took  the  note  and  had  no  difficulty  in 
recognizing  the  large  commercial  hand. 

"  DEAR  ANNE  [it  ran] :  It 's  a  hustling  day,  and 
I  may  not  get  down  to  the  ship,  though  I  shall 
make  a  try  for  it.  I  send  you  a  box  of  wine, 
with  best  wishes  for  a  good  voyage.  May  your 
boat  never  run  her  nose  into  the  fog,  or  anything 
else  except  the  dock  on  the  other  side ! 

"  Yours  with  as  much  love  as  you  will  accept, 

"  T.  R.  YATES." 

"  Poor  Tom  ! "  said  Anne,  with  a  deprecating 
shrug,  as  she  thrust  the  note  into  her  chatelaine 
bag  and  moved  across  the  deck  to  Lady  Camp- 
bell. Despite  her  annoyance  at  the  interruption 
of  her  talk  with  Walford,  she  took  one  of  her 
sudden  likings  to  this  badly  gowned,  well-look- 
ing Englishwoman  with  the  charming  voice  and 
the  restful  absence  of  emphasis.  Lady  Camp- 
bell, on  her  side,  was  so  pleased  with  Fleming 
that  it  required  quite  a  minute  for  Anne  to  secure 
her  attention,  which,  curiously  enough,  raised 
Fleming  in  that  inconsistent  young  woman's 
esteem.  She  turned  to  him  with  her  most  cor- 
dial manner  and  asked  if  they  might  not  hope  to 
see  him  on  the  other  side. 

"  I   have  no  such   agreeable  expectations  at 


OUTWARD   BOUND  79 

present,"  Fleming  answered,  "  but  every  one  does 
turn  up  over  there  sooner  or  later,  and  the  winter 
winds  often  drive  me  to  seek  shelter  somewhere 
from  this  pitiless  climate  of  ours." 

"  We  shall  hope  to  meet  you,  then,"  Anne 
went  on,  "  let  us  say  in  Rome,  or,  better  still,  in 
Florence.  We  expect  to  take  a  villa  there  in 
the  spring  and  shall  welcome  any  of  our  friends 
who  will  come.  I  shall  spend  all  my  time  this 
winter  learning  enough  Italian  to  speak  with  my 
maids.  What  's  that  ?  The  whistle  ?  " 

Fleming  made  hasty  adieus  and  hurried  along 
the  gangway  to  the  pier  below,  which  had  before 
been  a  scene  of  wild  confusion  and  now  had 
become  all  at  once  a  section  of  pandemonium. 
Men  and  women  threaded  their  way  under  the 
noses  of  the  horses;  boxes  and  barrels  were 
thrown  this  way  and  that ;  ropes  creaked,  men 
shouted,  tugs  whistled.  Then  slowly  the  steamer 
moved  out,  the  tugs  hauled  .their  lines  taut,  the 
huge  stern  swung  round,  and  the  voyage  had 
begun. 

Anne  stood  watching  the  mass  of  cheering, 
waving  humanity  on  the  wharf.  "And  all 
those,"  she  thought,  "are  'important  people*  to 
somebody."  Her  mood,  however  sentimental, 
was  exultant.  Was  it  not  happiness  of  which 
she  was  going  in  search,  and  had  she  not  money 


8o      FOUR  ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

in  the  bank  to  buy  it"?  The  revolving  screw 
pounded  into  Mrs.  Blythe's  ears  a  happy  tune. 
It  was  the  music  of  the  future. 

Meanwhile,  among  the  throng  on  the  wharf 
who  strained  their  eyes  to  catch  the  last  glimpse 
of  the  vessel,  were  three  men  whose  thoughts 
were  fixed  on  the  slender,  black-gowned  figure  at 
the  stern. 

"A  year  is  a  long  time,"  thought  Walford, 
with  a  sudden  pang.  "  I  wonder  if  she  will  re- 
member." 

"A  year  is  a  long  time,"  thought  Fleming. 
"  Perhaps  she  will  forget." 

"  Infernal  bad  luck ! "  growled  Tom  Yates. 
"  I  made  a  run  for  it;  but  there  was  a  block  and 
I  was  too  late.  I  hope  she  got  my  note.  Did 
she  say  anything  about  it,  Fleming  *?  " 

"  Not  to  me ;  but  then  I  forgot  to  ask  her." 

The  sarcasm  was  thrown  away  on  the  panting, 
perspiring  Yates. 

"  I  say,  Fleming,  will  you  breakfast  with  me  at 
the  Casino  to-morrow  about  noon  and  go  for  a 
run  in  my  '  bubble '  afterward  ?  " 

"  Thank  you,  yes.  I  '11  go.  I  have  nothing 
less  dull  on  hand." 

"  Dull !  I  guess  you  Ve  never  been  in  my 
machine." 

"  No,  but  I  have  been  in  the  machine  of  every 


OUTWARD   BOUND  81 

other  man  I  know,  and  on  each  occasion  I  have 
spent  several  hours  in  the  road  holding  tools, 
while  the  owner  or  his  chauffeur  lay  on  his  back 
under  the  car,  and  then  we  have  joyously  taken 
the  trolley  home.  Still,  I  '11  go.  There,  that 's 
all." 

The  steamer  was  out  of  sight,  lost  in  the  mist 
which  hung  like  a  veil  over  the  lower  bay,  and 
the  watchers  on  shore  returned  to  their  workaday 
world. 

Through  the  remainder  of  the  day  Fleming 
carried  in  his  mind  the  picture  of  Anne  Blythe 
standing  there  on  the  stern  of  the  steamer  flushed 
and  smiling.  It  came  between  him  and  the  brief 
on  which  he  was  working,  and  would  not  be 
brushed  away.  For  the  first  time  he  could 
imagine  Mrs.  Blythe  softly  human.  It  was  easy 
to  think  of  her  as  a  woman  to  be  admired ;  might 
it  be  possible  to  fancy  her  a  woman  to  be  adored? 
Not  by  himself,  of  course, —  he  was  past  all  that, 
—  but  by  some  other  man  —  Stuart  Walford, 
for  instance.  He  recalled  distinctly  the  look  in 
Walford's  eyes  as  he  waited  there  for  Mrs.  Blythe 
to  turn.  There  was  no  mistaking  its  unconscious 
self-revelation;  but  Mrs.  Blythe's  manner,  that 
was  less  easily  read.  He  wondered  vaguely  why 
women  found  it  necessary  to  be  so  much  less 
simple  and  direct  than  men  in  their  love-affairs. 


82      FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

Was  it  that  they  must  always  stand  ready  to 
deny  their  love  even  to  themselves  if  it  were  not 
returned  ? 

With  Mrs.  Blythe,  he  fancied,  it  was  not  any 
such  reservation,  but  rather  that,  while  willing  to 
accept  a  devotion  which  would  only  add  prestige 
to  her  present  role  of  Queen  of  Fortune,  she  by 
no  means  desired  to  lay  down  her  scepter. 

The  man  who  finds  enjoyment  in  the  incon- 
gruities of  human  nature  has  a  vast  fund  of  enter- 
tainment always  at  hand,  and  Fleming  amused 
himself  that  evening  by  recalling  all  Mrs.  Blythe's 
inconsistencies  and  the  contradictions  of  her 
moods.  At  last,  about  midnight,  it  occurred  to 
him  that  Mrs.  Blythe  had  employed  him  to  look 
after  her  legal  affairs,  not  to  be  responsible  for 
her  spiritual  condition. 

"After  all,"  he  said  to  himself,  as  he  turned  off 
the  light,  "the  key  to  her  character  will  lie  in 
what  she  does  about  the  child.  That  will  tell  the 
story." 


VI 

A    TRUST 
"  Let  him  that  thinketh  he  standeth  take  heed  lest  he  fell. " 

THE  gayest  place  in  New  York  of  a  summer 
Sunday  morning  is  the  little  Casino,  which 
sprawls  like  a  turtle  between  the  two  Central 
Park  driveways  and  refuses  to  be  wholly  hideous 
in  spite  of  its  roof  of  colored  slate  and  its  shape- 
less addition. 

In  the  wistaria-covered  pergola  beyond,  bois- 
terous children  climb  the  benches,  to  be  pulled 
down  at  intervals  by  nurses  neglectful  enough 
until  their  little  charges  begin  to  enjoy  themselves, 
when  they  interfere  sharply  and  with  the  finality 
of  brief  authority. 

In  the  court  between  the  pergola  and  the 
Casino  a  line  of  motley  vehicles  is  drawn  up  as 
if  on  dress-parade,  so  close  together  that  the  cabby 
on  his  hansom  can  talk  with  the  footman  on  the 
box  of  the  brougham.  The  incongruity  of  the 
equipages  is  no  greater  than  that  of  their  owners, 

83 


84      FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

who  fill  the  tiled  space  in  front  of  the  build- 
ing and  look  at  one  another  across  infinite  spaces 
of  differing  experiences.  The  out-of-door  restau- 
rant is  studded  with  small  tables,  and  sheltered 
under  a  gaily  striped  awning  from  the  heat  of  the 
sun.  Altogether  the  place  has  a  distinctly  foreign 
flavor ;  this  gave  it  a  charm  for  Fleming.  More- 
over, the  food  is  excellent,  if  one  can  possess  his 
soul  in  patience  for  the  cooking;  this  gave  it  a 
charm  for  Yates.  And  the  two  men  therefore 
sat  down  in  great  comfort  at  a  small  table  cozily 
niched  between  the  wall  and  railing  and  over- 
looking the  tiny  plaza. 

Yates  ordered  the  breakfasts — a  plain  one  for 
Fleming,  whose  taste  was  fastidiously  simple ; 
for  himself  an  elaborate  one,  and  such  as  did 
credit  to  his  gastronomic  imagination.  When 
the  waiter  had  gone,  Fleming  leaned  back  in  his 
chair  to  take  in  the  scene  around  him,  the  obser- 
vation of  his  fellows  being  one  of  his  cheap  and 
constant  amusements. 

Yates  looked  up  from  the  bulky  folds  of 
the  morning  paper.  " '  Passengers  outward 
bound  may  look  for  foggy  weather  till  they 
reach  the  Banks,'  so  the  paper  says.  Hard  luck 
for  Anne !  She  was  counting  a  lot  on  the  voy- 
age, but  I  '11  bet  she  is  wishing  herself  ashore 
by  now." 


A   TRUST  85 

"  I  am  afraid  so.  How  did  the  market  close 
yesterday  ?  " 

"  You  can  see  for  yourself,"  said  Yates,  push- 
ing the  paper  toward  Fleming's  side  of  the  table. 

"  Thanks ;  I  never  read  the  Sunday  papers. 
I  see  no  need  of  making  a  scrap-basket  of  my 
mind.  But  as  you  have  been  reading  the  stock 
lists  for  the  last  half-hour,  I  should  be  glad  of 
your  information,  not  to  say  your  advice.  Mrs. 
Blythe  has  asked  me  to  keep  her  informed  as  to 
the  values  of  certain  stocks  which  are  fluctuating 
just  now,  and  I  shall  depend  very  much  on  what 
you  think." 

"  Women  have  no  business  dabbling  in 
stocks,"  observed  Yates,  with  the  easy  general- 
izing of  a  narrow  mind. 

"Nevertheless,  Mrs.  Blythe,  having  several 
millions  involved,  seems  obliged  to  *  dabble,'  as 
you  call  it.  What  else  can  she  do  *?  " 

"  Marry !  "  said  Yates.  "  Anne  ought  to  marry 
and  let  her  husband  manage  her  millions." 

Fleming  was  irritated. '  He  resented  the  tone 
of  Yates's  speech.  He  resented  Yates's  speaking 
of  his  cousin  by  marriage  as  "Anne."  His 
irritation  lent  a  tinge  to  his  manner  as  he 
answered : 

"  You  seem  to  forget  that  if  Mrs.  Blythe  mar- 
ries she  will  have  no  millions  to  manage." 


86     FOUR   ROADS   TO    PARADISE 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Yates.  "  She  might 
marry  me  I " 

"She  might,  and  then  again  she  might  marry 
some  one  else;  but  in  that  case  it  would  be 
within  your  prerogative  to  refrain  from  enforcing 
the  terms  of  the  will." 

"  Now,  see  here,  Fleming,  that 's  going  too 
far.  I  make  no  secret  of  the  fact  that  I  would 
like  to  marry  Anne  Blythe.  She  knows  it  well 
enough,  and  I  don't  care  who  else  does.  But  if 
she  won't  have  me,  that  ends  it ;  after  that  it 's 
pure  business.  Ton  can  see  that!" 

Yates  leaned  his  arm  on  the  table  as  he  went 
on.  "  I  tell  you  the  reason  so  many  fellows 
don't  get  on  is  because  they  mix  up  sentiment 
and  business.  Sentiment  's  a  good  thing  and 
business  is  a  good  thing;  but  they  don't  belong 
together." 

"  It  seems  not,  certainly,"  Fleming  answered 
nonchalantly. 

At  this  point  the  long-delayed  breakfast  ap- 
peared and  was  set  upon  the  table.  As  Yates 
took  up  his  knife  and  fork  he  resumed  his  con- 
versation. 

**  If  a  man  wants  to  succeed  he  must  keep  his 
head  clear  for  business  and  turn  his  life  into 
cash.  He  must  talk  money,  think  money,  dream 
money.  And,  after  all,  there  's  nothing  like  it." 


A   TRUST  87 

"  Nothing  like  it,  perhaps,"  Fleming  answered, 
"  but  a  good  many  things  better  worth  having." 

"  I  don't  think  so." 

'*  Well,  I  should  be  glad  not  to  think  so  my- 
self. It  certainly  has  many  advantages :  in  the 
first  place,  it  's  so  easy  to  get." 

"  Is  it,  indeed  ?  " 

"Why,  yes;  you  have  only  to  make  a  lucky 
turn  in  Wall  Street  or  lose  a  maiden  aunt,  and 
there  you  are.  You  can  step  out  next  day 
and  buy  your  racers,  hire  your  servants,  order 
your  wines,  and  be  as  good  as  any  millionaire  in 
the  country ;  but,  after  all,  what  of  it '?  " 

"  Well,"  said  Yates,  leaning  back  in  his  chair 
and  jingling  the  change  in  his  pockets,  "  it  may 
be  as  you  say.  Only,  if  it  is,  please  tell  me  why 
the  college  presidents  are  all  angling  for  money. 
Why  are  the  churches  tumbling  over  one  an- 
other to  secure  a  rich  parishioner  *?  Who  is  it 
that  the  dukes  and  princes  want  to  see  when 
they  come  over  from  the  other  side  *?  I  '11  tell 
you :  it  7s  the  men  who  have  made  their  pile." 

"Perhaps,"  said  Fleming;  "but  there  was  a 
man  named  Abraham  Lincoln  who  never  made 
any  pile  except  a  pile  of  rails,  and  yet  he  seems 
to  have  amounted  to  something  and  to  have 
found  life  worth  while  without  money." 

"  Well,  there  was  a  man  named  Anatole  Jau- 


88      FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

don  who  shot  himself  yesterday  morning  because 
he  did  not  find  life  worth  while  without  money." 

"  What  is  that  ?  "  Fleming  exclaimed,  drop- 
ping the  lazy  indifference  with  which  he  had  been 
conducting  the  conversation.  "  What  was  that 
name  you  used  ?  " 

"  Anatole  Jaudon.     Did  you  know  him  *?  " 

"  I  have  heard  of  him.  What  do  you  say 
happened  ?  " 

"  He  killed  himself.  Here  is  the  account  in 
the  paper.  You  can  read  it  for  yourself,  unless 
you  are  afraid  of  turning  your  mind  into  a  scrap- 
basket." 

Fleming  took  the  proffered  paper  and  read 
hastily: 

Anatole  Jaudon,  formerly  a  lieutenant  of  the  French  army, 
killed  himself  yesterday  at  his  boarding-house  in  Morton 
Street.  For  several  years  he  had  lived  on  remittances  sent  him 
by  his  daughter  in  France.  Recently  these  had  failed;  but  a 
week  ago  he  received  a  letter  promising  money  on  Saturday. 
He  rose  early  yesterday  morning  to  watch  for  the  postman; 
but  when  the  carrier  passed  the  door  without  stopping,  Jaudon 
drew  a  revolver  and  shot  himself.  The  carrier  turned  back  as 
the  shot  was  fired.  There  was  a  letter,  with  a  double  remit- 
tance. The  body,  unless  claimed,  will  be  sent  to  the  morgue. 

"Come,"  said  Yates,  impatiently,  "stop  read- 
ing !  Finish  your  coffee  and  let  us  start.  Shall 
it  be  Pelham  or  the  Bronx  ?  " 


A   TRUST  89 

"  What  was  that  you  were  saying,  Yates  ? 
Would  I  rather  go  to  Pelham  Park  or  the 
Bronx  ?  I  don't  know.  In  fact,  I  think  I  must 
give  up  both.  I  know  friends  of  this  Jaudon, 
and  I  ought  to  notify  them  before  the  body  is 
carried  to  the  morgue.  Perhaps  you  will  be 
good  enough  to  take  me  to  the  elevated  road." 

Yates  looked  at  Fleming  in  surprise,  then  he 
sulkily  ordered  his  automobile.  He  did  not 
enjoy  having  his  outing  spoiled  in  this  fashion. 
His  annoyance  found  vent  in  the  jerk  with  which 
he  started  his  machine,  and  its  headlong  speed  as 
he  made  the  curve  from  the  Casino  to  the  main 
drive,  and  again  where  the  drive  intersects  the 
cross-road  below  the  Mall. 

At  this  point  he  almost  ran  down  a  pedestrian, 
who  saved  himself  by  jumping  backward.  As 
he  did  so,  both  men  recognized  him,  and  Yates 
brought  the  automobile  to  a  sudden  halt. 

"Well  met,  Mr.  Walford!"  he  called  out. 
"  Fleming,  here,  promised  to  go  with  me  on  a 
drive ;  but  he  has  changed  his  mind,  and  I  am 
left  all  alone,  like  the  girl  in  the  song,  unless 
you  will  take  his  place." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Walford,  who  had  not 
forgiven  the  indignity  of  his  sudden  jump,  "but 
I  have  been  called  to  see  some  one  at  the  Pres- 
byterian Hospital.  I  am  on  my  way  there  now." 


90      FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

"  Sorry ! "  said  Yates,  shortly,  and  started  ahead 
again,  at  full  speed. 

Walford  stood  for  a  moment  looking  disap- 
provingly at  the  flying  vehicle.  He  could  not 
have  explained  why  it  struck  him  as  more  in- 
decorous to  travel  fast  than  slowly  on  Sunday, 
and  yet  he  felt  that  it  was  out  of  harmony  with 
the  tranquillity  which  should  rule  the  Sabbath ; 
ani  then  to  run  people  down  like  that  was 
neither  safe  nor  courteous.  There  was  only  one 
thing  which  could  have  tempted  him  to  accept 
Yates's  invitation :  that  was  the  chance  of  hear- 
ing some  word  of  a  person  who  had  been  much 
in  his  thoughts  of  late,  almost  to  the  exclusion  of 
all  other  thoughts,  in  fact.  It  is  needless  to  say 
that  the  name  of  the  person  was  Anne  Blythe. 

Anne  Blythe !  The  words  sent  the  blood 
coursing  faster  through  Walford's  veins  and  set 
his  pulses  to  beating.  He  seemed  to  see  her 
again,  standing  on  the  deck  of  the  steamer,  his  vio- 
lets pinned  at  her  breast,  her  eyes  smiling  into  his. 

Here  a  swift  revulsion  of  feeling  followed  his 
elation.  What  right  had  he  to  be  dallying  with 
thoughts  of  love  ?  No  priest  of  the  Roman 
Church  could  be  more  chained  to  celibacy  than 
he.  Could  he  for  an  instant  imagine  weighting 
himself  with  a  wife  in  such  a  service  of  sorrow 
and  death  as  lay  before  him?  Even  if,  by  a 


A   TRUST  91 

wild  flight  of  fancy,  he  could  imagine  himself 
taking  a  wife,  was  there  a  woman  in  the  wide 
world  so  absurdly  unfitted  to  the  situation  as 
Anne  Blythe  ? 

He  pictured  himself  telling  her  of  his  plans 
and  asking  her  to  share  them.  Memory  showed 
him  the  deprecating  gesture  with  which  she  had 
met  his  suggestion  of  mission  work.  He  could 
fancy  the  ironical  smile  with  which  she  would 
greet  the  unfolding  of  his  schemes  for  the 
future.  He  should  make  himself  ridiculous  in 
her  eyes.  At  this  thought  the  hot  blood  flamed 
over  Walford's  face.  Up  to  this  time  he  had 
seen  his  mission  only  in  the  light  of  exalted  self- 
sacrifice  and  solemn  consecration.  Now,  of  a 
sudden,  he  comprehended  that  it  might  strike 
practical  minds  as  quixotic  and  fanatical. 

With  such  emotions  surging  in  his  mind 
Walford  took  little  account  of  distances,  and 
it  was  almost  of  their  own  guidance  that  his  feet 
stopped  at  the  door  of  the  hospital  which  rises 
big  and  bare  above  Park  Avenue.  Walford 
looked  up  at  it  uncomprehendingly  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  then,  suddenly  recalling  his  errand,  he 
pulled  the  bell  sharply  and  asked  to  see  the  nurse 
in  charge.  She  came  to  him  in  the  little  recep- 
tion-room, and  he  told  her  as  briefly  as  he  could 
the  story  of  his  coming.  A  message  had  been 


92      FOUR  ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

received  at  the  rectory  saying  that  a  very  sick 
woman  wished  to  see  the  rector,  and  Dr.  Milner 
being  absent,  he  had  come  as  a  substitute. 

"Yes,  I  know;  it  was  I  who  sent  the  mes- 
senger. A  young  woman  was  brought  here  yes- 
terday suffering  from  collapse  —  not  likely  to 
live  beyond  to-morrow,  we  think.  The  doctor 
called  it  a  case  of  heat-prostration,  and  the  sun 
was  very  hot,  you  remember,  yesterday." 

"  Yes,  I  remember  it  well." 

"  Of  course  that  may  be  all  that  's  the  matter 
with  her;  but  I  think  she  's  had  some  shock  to 
her  mind.  She  's  been  moaning  ever  since  they 
found  her  wandering  in  the  streets  yesterday 
evening,  and  all  night  she  was  talking  French 
by  fits  and  starts.  This  morning  she  could  give 
her  name ;  but  her  heart  is  weaker.  The  doctor 
does  n't  want  her  excited,  but  she  begged  so 
hard  to  send  for  some  one  that  he  thought  it 
would  be  better  to  let  her  have  her  own  way. 
First  she  wanted  to  see  a  Mr.  Blair  Fleming,  but 
she  could  only  give  his  office  address.  We 
begged  her  to  wait  and  see  him  to-morrow;  but 
she  said  she  must  see  some  one  to-day,  and 
after  thinking  awhile  she  asked,  '  Is  there  a 
Church  of  St.  Simeon?' 

"  '  Yes,'  I  said.  '  I  was  there  once.  I  remem- 
ber the  candles.' " 


A  TRUST  93 

Then,  she  said,  she  would  like  to  see  the  rector ; 
and  she  would  give  us  no  peace  till  we  sent. 

"  What  is  the  young  woman's  name  *? "  Wai- 
ford  asked. 

"  Renee  Jaudon,  and  it 's  my  belief  that  she 
is  related  to  the  man  who  shot  himself  yesterday 
in  Morton  Street.  But  I  must  n't  keep  you  wait- 
ing. Will  you  come  up  with  me  now?" 

Walford  followed  up  the  wide  stairway  to  the 
open  door  of  a  ward  where  a  line  of  white  beds 
stood  side  by  side  in  what  looked,  at  first,  like 
an  endless  row.  The  nurse  pointed  to  a  bed 
which  seemed  quite  alone,  because  its  neighbors 
had  no  occupants.  Walford  approached  softly, 
watching  a  white  face  with  closed  eyelids.  As 
he  drew  near,  the  eyes  slowly  opened. 

"  Monsieur  is  the  cure,  what  you  call  the  rector, 
of  St.  Simeon's?" 

The  voice  that  spoke  was  weak,  and  Walford 
was  obliged  to  lean  over  to  catch  the  words. 

"  I  am  not  the  rector.  He  is  away.  I  am  his 
assistant.  I  thought  I  might  be  better  than  no 
one  —  at  least,  I  could  take  a  message.  You 
will  trust  me  *?  " 

There  was  a  note  in  Walford's  voice  which 
was  neither  to  be  repelled  nor  denied. 

"  Trust  you,  monsieur  *?  Oh,  but  yes,  I  trust 
you  !  I  am  going  to  die  —  is  it  not  ?  " 


94      FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

"  You  are  very  ill." 

"  Yes,  I  know.  I  have  been  not  good,  and 
when  the  sun  was  so  hot  and  I  sank  down  in 
the  street,  I  said,  *See,  Renee,  God  is  angry 
against  you/  They  lifted  me  up  and  brought 
me  here.  At  first  they  thought  I  would  get 
well ;  but  God  was  angry,  et  il  rfy  avait  pas  moyen. 
Before  I  die  there  is  a  something  I  must  do. 
There  is  a  letter.  I  kept  it  back  when  I  sold  the 
rest.  I  might  have  had  need  of  the  money,  and 
this  would  have  brought  it;  but  now  that  makes 
nothing.  God  is  angry  against,  me.  My  father 
is  dead.  I  saw  it  in  the  paper  yesterday.  Will 
you  give  back  the  letter  for  me  ?  " 

"Surely  I  will,  if  you  tell  me  to  whom." 

The  girl  tried  to  sit  up,  but  finding  herself  too 
weak,  sank  back  on  the  pillow  and  gasped  for 
breath;  yet  she  laid  a  detaining  hand  on  the 
sleeve  of  Walford's  coat,  fearing  he  would  go  if 
she  slipped  into  unconsciousness. 

Walford  answered  as  if  she  had  spoken.  "  I 
will  not  leave  you  till  you  have  told  me  all. 
Take  plenty  of  time." 

At  last  she  began  again. 

"  I  tried  to  see  Monsieur  Fleming." 

"  Yes,"  said  Walford,  striving  to  help  her.  "  I 
know  him.  He  is  a  lawyer.  You  wished  to  see 
him  perhaps  about  some  business  ?  " 


A  TRUST  95 

"  Yes,  it  was  that.  He  was  kind,  Monsieur 
Fleming,  yet  I  had  fear  of  him.  He  was  so 
right !  When  I  heard  that  he  was  not  at  his 
house,  I  thought,  *  Good ;  now  there  is  no  need 
that  he  know.' " 

"  Whose  letter  is  it  that  you  have  kept  ?  " 

"  This  is  why  I  sent  for  you  :  because  I  knew 
Madame  Blythe  went  to  monsieur's  church." 

"  Do  you  mean  Mrs.  Richard  Blythe  ?  " 

"Out!  Oui!  It  is  for  her.  She  hates  me  — 
I  do  not  mind.  She  has  fear  of  me  —  I  am  glad. 
But  I  forget." 

The  weak  hand  moved  upward  to  the  pillow 
and  drew  out  a  folded  sheet  of  paper,  soiled 
along  the  edges  and  in  the  creases,  as  if  with 
long  carrying. 

"  For  her !  "  the  woman  exclaimed,  with  the 
force  of  excitement  in  her  tone.  "  Only  for  her ! 
You  will  give  it  ?  " 

"  I  will." 

"  Not  send  —  give  ! " 

"  I  promise." 

"  That  is  all.     Thank  you.     Au  revrir." 

The  ghost  of  a  smile  trembled  along  the  pale 
lips  and  was  gone. 

"  The  ten  minutes  arc  over,"  said  the  nurse, 
coming  up. 

Walford  took  the  dying  girl's  hand    in  his. 


96     FOUR  ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

"You  have  my  promise,"  he  said.  "Shall  I 
come  to  see  you  again  *?  When  you  are  stronger, 
I  might  pray  with  you." 

"No,  no;  I  will  have  a  priest  of  my  own 
church.  Adieu,  monsieur" 

There  were  tears  in  Walford's  eyes  as  he 
walked  down  the  corridor  and  out  into  the  street. 
The  heavy  door  closed  behind  him.  He  looked 
up  at  the  brick  pile  stretching  from  avenue  to 
avenue,  equipped  with  every  life-saving  appa- 
ratus, and  he  thought  how  little  it  all  availed, 
how  powerless,  after  all,  was  every  human  aid 
when  death  must  conquer  in  the  end. 

I  say  he  thought  all  this.  It  would  be  truer 
to  say  he  put  himself  through  this  course  of 
thought,  for  all  the  time  his  subliminal  conscious- 
ness was  occupied  with  that  letter  in  his  pocket, 
against  which  his  heart  was  beating  heavily. 

"  Mrs.  Blythe  —  what  had  this  girl  to  do  with 
her  *?  '  Not  good '  —  was  not  that  what  Renee 
Jaudon  had  said  of  herself?  No ;  one  could 
see  that.  The  history  of  her  past  life  was  written 
in  her  face.  How  had  this  letter  come  into  her 
hands,  and  what  had  it  to  do  with  Anne  Blythe  ? 
Why  had  Mrs.  Blythe  bought  the  others  ?  Was 
she  afraid  ?  Good  heavens !  Anne  Blythe 
afraid1?  Absurd  on  the  very  face  of  it;  and 
yet — " 


A  TRUST  97 

Walford  walked  rapidly  in  spite  of  the  heat ; 
but  when  he  reached  Fifth  Avenue  he  crossed 
the  street  and  sank  down  on  the  stone  bench 
from  over  which  the  head  of  Hunt  keeps  watch 
upon  his  work  across  the  way.  Waiford  sat  va- 
cantly staring  at  the  mass  of  gray  masonry.  He 
seemed  to  see  nothing,  yet  afterward  he  remem- 
bered every  detail  —  the  curving  driveway  in 
front,  the  high  doorway,  the  bald  windows, 
and  the  heavy  cornice.  Yet  all  the  time  his 
mind  was  hammering  at  the  old  thought: 
"  What  is  it  to  Anne  Blythe  ?  How  does  it 
concern  her?  " 

He  was  aware  that  his  forehead  was  wet.  He 
drew  out  his  handkerchief  to  wipe  off  the  drops 
of  sweat.  As  he  did  so,  the  letter  fell  out  of  his 
pocket  and  lay  half  open  on  the  flags  at  his  feet. 
As  he  stooped  to  pick  it  up,  his  eye  almost  un- 
consciously took  in  these  words:  "Yates  is  in 
love  with  my  wife,  and  she  — "  Here  the  writing 
ended  at  the  foot  of  the  page.  Walford  turned 
white.  Who  was  "  my  wife  "  ?  Did  that  refer 
to  Anne  ?  It  spoke  only  of  Yates.  That  did 
not  in  itself  cast  any  reflection  on  her ;  but  that 
broken  sentence  —  he  must  and  would  know 
how  it  ended.  Then  he  seemed  to  hear  again 
the  dying  girl's  voice  in  his  ear: 

"Trust  you,  monsieur?     Oh,  but  yes!  " 


98     FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

Yet,  he  reasoned,  this  might  be  interpreted  in 
another  way.  It  might  mean  that  she  trusted 
him  with  full  knowledge  in  the  matter.  How 
much  more  wisely  he  could  carry  himself  toward 
Mrs.  Blythe  if  he  only  knew  —  if  he  only  knew  ! 
But  no  —  he  could  not. 

He  rose,  thrust  the  letter  back  into  his  pocket, 
and  walked  on  faster  than  ever  till  he  came  to 
an  opening  in  the  stone  wall  which  separated  the 
street  from  the  park.  He  entered  and  mechani- 
cally took  a  turn  which  brought  him  to  a  high 
rock  topped  by  a  summer-house  under  a  spread- 
ing maple-tree.  Here  he  sat  down  again,  and 
again  he  resumed  the  mental  struggle.  This 
time  he  told  himself  that  it  would  be  wrong  for 
him  to  go  through  life  harboring  a  suspicion 
without  foundation  —  a  suspicion  which  might 
poison  his  whole  life  and  blast  his  future ;  for  he 
no  longer  attempted  to  deny  that  he  held  a  per- 
sonal stake  in  the  character  of  Anne  Blythe. 

The  riddle  had  been  thrust  into  his  hand;  he 
had  not  sought  it ;  but  given  the  riddle,  the  an- 
swer must  be  read,  or  he  should  go  mad.  Indeed, 
he  felt  the  veins  of  his  forehead  swelling  in  the 
heat,  and  he  hastily  loosened  the  tight  collar 
which  bound  his  neck. 

The  voice  within  urged  constantly: 

" Read !     Read ! " 


A  TRUST  99 

He  resisted;  he  set  his  teeth;  he  shut  his 
eyes;  but  still  the  voice  went  on :  "Read  !  Read! 
Just  one  word  — only  one  word ! "  At  length, 
with  a  gasp,  he  drew  out  the  letter,  swiftly  turned 
the  page,  and  read:  "w  like  the  rest  of  you"  At 
the  foot  of  the  page  was  the  name  of  Richard 
Blythe. 

"  I  have  been  not  good,"  the  girl  in  the  hos- 
pital had  said;  "and  she  is  like  you,"  Anne's 
husband  had  written.  What  did  it  mean  *? 

Walford's  education  stood  him  in  poor  stead 
at  this  crisis.  His  sympathies  were  alive  to  any 
appeal ;  his  emotions  responded  like  an  aeolian 
harp  to  every  gust  of  feeling;  but  his  reason  had 
not  been  trained  to  sift  evidence,  to  weigh  prob- 
abilities, to  test  statements.  He  was  liable  to 
accept  hastily  and  without  due  consideration  any 
conclusion  which  he  either  supremely  desired  or 
dreaded. 

He  instinctively  saw  life  in  high  lights  and 
deep  shadows.  It  was  easier  for  him  to  believe 
the  worst  than  to  hold  his  judgment  in  suspense, 
to  wait  and  question  Time,  the  great  revealer. 

Yet,  even  for  him,  it  was  difficult  to  plunge 
so  suddenly  from  devotion  to  doubt.  Anne's 
image  was  still  set  in  that  shrine  where  a  man 
places  only  the  woman  whom  he  both  loves  and 
honors.  He  could  not  all  at  once  cast  it  out. 


ioo     FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

But  he  asked  himself  how  he  should  feel  if  this 
awful  thing  were  true;  how  she  would  feel  if  she 
knew  that  he  knew.  It  was  too  terrible  to  be 
considered,  and  yet  he  considered  it.  He  began 
to  picture  her  look  when  he  handed  her  that 
letter.  He  framed  the  sentences  which  he  would 
speak  in  answer  to  her  self-exculpations.  He 
half  formed  the  prayers  he  would  offer,  the  final 
absolution  which  his  spiritual  strivings  should 
earn  him  the  supreme  privilege  of  extending. 
But  oh  for  the  perfect  trust,  the  unconscious 
confidence  of  an  hour  ago ! 

"I  —  wish  —  I  —  had  not  looked,"  said  Wal- 
fbrd  aloud.  He  rose  and  walked  unsteadily 
away,  but  only  for  a  short  distance.  His  feet 
faltered,  and  at  the  next  unoccupied  seat  he  sank 
down  once  more,  and  leaning  his  arm  across  the 
back  of  the  bench,  he  bowed  his  head  above  it. 
Memory  was  busy  with  that  first  interview  when 
Mrs.  Blythe  had  poured  out  her  confidences  as 
a  volcano  pours  out  its  lava-tide  when  it  can  no 
longer  be  held  pent  up.  He  wondered,  in  look- 
ing back,  that  his  suspicions  had  not  been  aroused 
then.  He  ought  to  have  seen  how  unnatural 
it  was  for  a  woman  in  her  position  to  rush  into 
such  self-revelation ;  but  if  there  were  some  guilty 
secret,  not  revealed,  then  he  could  understand 
how  slight  her  confidences  might  seem  to  herself. 


A   TRUST  101 

Was  this  the  reason  why  her  life  with  her 
husband  had  been  unhappy  ?  Was  this  why  it 
had  been  such  torture  to  hear  his  father  talk  of 
him  ?  Was  this  why  Mr.  Blythe  had  kept  her  so 
closely  at  home,  forbidding  visitors  ?  This  would 
explain  everything.  And  yet,  if  Mr.  Blythe  knew 
of  it,  why  did  he  not  cut  off  Yates  in  his  will? 
No;  clearly  he  could  not  have  known  who  her 
lover  was,  but  that  there  was  one  he  did  know. 

The  judicial  attitude  is  lost  when  a  man  makes 
up  his  mind.  After  that  he  argues  the  case  for 
his  opinion,  and  has  the  same  interest  to  prove 
his  own  wisdom  that  a  lawyer  has  to  prove  his 
client's  innocence. 

Memory  flashed  more  than  one  searchlight  on 
the  situation.  Words,  phrases,  hints  of  remorse, 
to  which  he  had  paid  slight  attention  at  the 
time,  rose  before  him  now  charged  with  a  darker 
significance.  Had  there  been  an  attempt  on  her 
part  at  a  half  confession,  an  appeal  for  sym- 
pathy without  the  humiliation  of  an  avowal  of 
her  need  ?  Alas,  it  looked  only  too  probable. 
It  fitted  only  too  well  with  his  reluctant  suspi- 
cions. He  should  be  a  simpleton  not  to  believe 
it.  Yet  he  would  hope  against  hope.  He 
would  give  her  every  chance  to  explain  it.  He 
would  place  the  letter  in  her  hand  and  let 
her  read  it  alone.  Afterward  he  would  question 


102     FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

her  gently,  as  one  who  knows  nothing.  If  she 
were  guiltless,  God  knew  how  he  would  rejoice; 
if,  on  the  other  hand,  she  broke  down,  if  she  con- 
fessed her  guilt,  he  would  stand  her  friend, 
though  his  ideal  might  be  shattered.  He  might 
still  influence  her.  Through  him  she  might  yet 
be  brought  out  of  darkness  into  light. 

"  God  grant  it ! "  Walford  murmured  aloud, 
and  brokenly  repeated :  " /  wish  I  bad  not  looked" 


VII 


MAXWELL   NEWTON 

"  Ihm  ziemt  '•  die  Welt  im  Inncrn  ru  bewegen, 
Natur  in  Sich,  Sich  in  Natur  lu  hegcn." 

NEW  YORK  in  July  is  like  the  circle  in 
the  Inferno  where  each  man  lives  in  his 
own  particular  little  oven,  and  where  the  walls 
cast  the  red  glare  of  their  heat  high  on  the 
clouds.  But  there  is  a  worse  torture  reserved 
for  those  who  fly  from  the  city  of  Dis  to  its 
suburbs,  whither  foolish  folk  betake  themselves 
in  order  apparently  to  escape  all  the  conveniences 
of  town  while  abating  nothing  of  its  heat. 

Maxwell  Newton  lived  on  the  north  shore  of 
Long  Island,  in  a  Maltese  cottage, —  one  of  a 
Maltese  settlement  squatted  close  together,  for 
all  the  world  like  a  family  of  gray  cats, —  at  un- 
easy distance  from  New  York,  and  reached  with 
equal  difficulty  by  boat  or  train.  Newton's 
chief  social  pleasure  lay  in  showing  his  house  to 
his  friends.  The  chief  satisfaction  of  his  friends 

103 


104     FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

lay  in  the  reflection  that  it  did  not  belong  to 
them. 

On  Saturday  evening  Blair  Fleming  alighted 
at  the  Newton  cottage  before  the  mosquito- 
netted  porch  which  told  its  own  story.  He 
found  himself  eagerly  calculating  the  number  of 
hours  which  must  elapse  before  Monday  morn- 
ing, and  cursing  the  temporary  glow  of  friendli- 
ness which  had  led  him  to  accept  Newton's 
invitation  last  week  at  the  club.  It  was  a 
weakness  of  Fleming's  temperament  that  sug- 
gestion appealed  to  him  so  much  more  than  ful- 
filment. He  welcomed  each  invitation  with  a 
distinct  thrill  of  anticipation ;  but  when  the  oc- 
casion arrived,  the  bloom  was  off  the  rye,  and 
he  began  to  reflect  on  the  comparative  comforts 
and  privileges  of  staying  at  home. 

He  was  a  confirmed  bachelor,  and  a  confirmed 
bachelor  can  make  himself  comfortable  anywhere 
except  in  his  friend's  house.  There  he  has  de- 
liberately put  away  the  right  to  ring  for  every- 
thing he  wishes,  and  he  cannot  swear  at  the 
attendants,  at  the  moderate  price  of  twenty-five 
cents  an  occasion,  for  not  foreseeing  and  fore- 
stalling his  needs. 

It  was  of  no  use  now  to  regret  his  room  at  the 
club,  his  window-seat  in  the  dining-room,  with 
his  dainty  meal  ready  and  served  to  the  instant 


MAXWELL  NEWTON  105 

when  it  suited  himself,  not  when  it  was  easiest 
for  the  servants.  He  was  here,  and  here  he 
must  remain  for  the  coming  thirty-eight  hours 
and  twenty-six  minutes. 

Newton  stood  on  the  porch  mopping  his  fore- 
head. "  So  glad  to  see  you,  Fleming !  Seems 
pretty  good  to  get  out  of  that  beastly  heat, 
does  n't  it  ?  George,  take  Mr.  Fleming's  suit- 
case to  his  room." 

George  was  Dr.  Newton's  son,  a  long,  narrow, 
tow-headed  boy  of  sixteen,  who  had  met  Fleming 
with  the  dog-cart,  and  who  now  preceded  him  up 
the  stairs  and  opened  the  door  of  an  oven  papered 
in  yellow  and  looking  out  on  a  tinned  roof. 

"  Would  you  like  a  bath  ?  " 

Decidedly  Fleming  would  like  a  bath. 

"  Well,  the  bath-room  is  there  at  the  end  of 
the  hall.  You  have  to  go  through  Father's  and 
Mother's  room  to  get  to  it ;  but  you  won't  mind 
that." 

"  Oh,  no,  certainly  not !  But  perhaps  you 
will  kindly  show  me  the  way,  for  fear  I  might 
fall  into  the  clothes-closet  or  be  shot  down  the 
chute  to  the  butler's  pantry." 

To  himself  Fleming  murmured,  "I  suppose  I 
ought  to  think  myself  lucky  not  to  have  a  sofa- 
bed  in  the  hall." 

Supper  was  cleverly  placed  at  half-past  six,  in 


io6     FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

order  apparently  to  cut  out  of  the  day  the  two 
hours  when  strolling  or  driving  might  have  been 
agreeable.  The  sun  was  slanting  its  last  spiteful 
rays  in  at  the  scantily  shaded  windows  of  the  sit- 
ting-room, happily  combined  with  a  hallway,  when 
Fleming  came  down-stairs,  immaculate  and  to  the 
outer  eye  coolly  comfortable  in  his  fresh  linen. 

Mrs.  Newton  met  him  and  introduced  herself. 
She  was  not  at  all  what  Fleming  would  have  ex- 
pected Newton's  wife  to  be.  To  understand 
men's  wives  one  should  know  how  they  looked 
as  girls,  and  that  is  often  difficult.  The  Mrs. 
Newton  of  to-day  had  about  as  much  individu- 
ality as  a  dish-pan,  to  which  she  bore  some 
resemblance,  being  round  and  gray  and  monoto- 
nous. She  welcomed  Mr.  Fleming  with  timid 
cordiality  and  then  seemed  suddenly  to  become 
afraid  of  the  situation. 

"  I  think,"  she  said,  "  I  'd  better  hurry  supper 
a  little.  The  country  always  gives  people  such 
an  appetite ! " 

Fleming,  who  usually  dined  at  eight,  bowed 
his  assent,  and  the  little  lady  rolled  away,  leav- 
ing him  at  leisure  to  observe  the  room  in  which 
he  sat.  The  furnishings  were  an  unhappy  com- 
bination of  Newton's  ideas  of  interest  with  his 
wife's  ideas  of  beauty. 

The  chief  ornament  was  a  large  walnut-framed 


MAXWELL  NEWTON  107 

clock,  which  designated  not  only  the  hours,  but 
the  minutes  and  seconds,  also  the  day  of  the 
week,  month,  and  year,  and  with  lavish  super- 
fluity indicated  in  the  corner  the  phases  of  the 
moon  and  the  date  of  eclipses.  Next  the  mantel 
stood  a  spectroscope.  A  phonograph  occupied 
the  table,  and  in  the  window,  taking  up  the  only 
space  where  an  easy-chair  might  have  stood  with 
its  back  to  the  light,  was  a  glass  tank  filled  with, 
anemic  fish  and  small  uncanny  reptiles.  All 
these  represented  Newton.  His  wife,  in  the 
"  pursuit  of  prettiness,"  had  added  certain  easily 
recognized  artistic  touches  —  a  sofa-pillow  deco- 
rated with  a  picture  of  George  as  a  baby,  his 
yellow  curls  forming  a  charming  contrast  with 
the  light-blue  background,  embroidered  "  tidies" 
representing  a  pathetic  amount  of  misdirected 
industry,  and  a  catch-all,  made  of  satin  ribbon 
and  heavy  lace,  hung  against  the  wall. 

Fleming  hoped  that  it  would  be  possible  to 
spend  a  great  deal  of  time  out  of  doors  during 
his  visit,  and  reflected  with  satisfaction  that  half 
an  hour  had  already  passed. 

As  he  rose  to  walk  to  the  doo.r,  his  eyes  fell 
on  a  pile  of  music,  a  violin-stand,  and  an  open 
case.  It  was  like  finding  an  orchid  in  a  cab- 
bage-bed. How  had  such  an  exotic  fallen  into 
this  Philistine  world? 


io8  FOUR  ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

As  if  in  answer  to  his  questioning  thought, 
the  owner  of  the  violin  appeared  at  the  door,  and 
on  discovering  Fleming  would  have  backed  out 
again,  but  the  visitor  spoke  to  him. 

"  Hulloa,  George  ! "  he  said.  **  Is  it  you  who 
play?" 

"  Yes,  I  do,  a  little  —  very  badly,  you  know. 
But  I  get  a  lot  of  fun  out  of  it." 

"  You  have  had  lessons  ?  " 

"  No.  Father  won't  let  me.  He  says  I  'm  to 
be  a  scientific  man,  and  that  a  scientific  man  has 
nothing  to  do  with  fiddling." 

"And  you  —  do  you  wish  to  be  a  scientific 
man?" 

"Oh,  no!" 

"  Then  why  — "  Fleming  was  beginning,  when 
Newton  entered  and  his  son  disappeared. 

"  Come,  Fleming,"  urged  his  host,  "  you  must 
see  my  laboratory  before  dinner." 

The  guest  followed  willingly  enough  down  a 
long  passage  to  a  separate  building  containing  a 
large,  square  room,  much  more  admirable  than 
the  sitting-room.  Places  where  people  work 
are  generally  more  esthetic  than  those  where  they 
consult  their  ideas  of  the  beautiful.  The  useful 
is  good  enough  in  any  household.  It  is  reserved 
for  the  ornamental  to  be  hideous. 

Newton's    study,  to    Fleming's    mind,  quite 


MAXWELL  NEWTON  109 

atoned  for  the  rest  of  the  house  and  for  the  first 
time  he  could  understand  his  friend's  living  here. 
A  large  table,  littered  with  books,  pamphlets, 
and  papers,  occupied  the  center  of  the  room. 
Two  or  three  easy-chairs  stood  around  it.  About 
the  walls  were  shelves,  filled  on  one  side  with 
books,  above  which  hung  a  colored  geological 
map  of  the  basin  of  the  Thames,  showing  the 
layers  of  chalk,  weald  clay,  oolite,  lias,  and  trias 
in  shades  of  green  and  yellow. 

Fleming  drew  near  to  the  bookcase  and  ran 
his  eye  carelessly  over  the  volumes  which  repre- 
sented the  only  library  of  the  house.  They 
were,  as  he  would  have  expected,  entirely  scien- 
tific. Not  a  poet  was  there,  not  a  romancer,  not 
a  dramatist,  not  a  historian.  Everything  was 
science.  Fleming  read  the  titles,  confessing 
with  some  shame  to  himself  that  even  they  were 
unfamiliar  and  bewildering — Haeckel's  "Peri- 
genesis  of  the  Plastidule,"  Biichner's  "  Matter  and 
Force,"  Max  Verworn's  "  Psychophysiologische 
Protisten-Studien."  What  effect  would  it  have 
on  a  man's  mind,  Fleming  wondered,  to  read 
this  sort  of  thing  and  nothing  else  ?  Would  he 
gain  in  concentration  as  much  as  he  would  lose 
by  the  exclusion  of  the  humanities? 

"Ah,  you  are  looking  over  my  books,  are 
you  ?  "  said  Newton's  voice,  as  if  in  answer  to 


no   FOUR  ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

the  questioning.  "  They  're  food  enough  for  a 
lifetime;  but  there  are  better  things  yet  than 
books." 

"  Perhaps  I  did  him  injustice,"  thought  Flem- 
ing. 

"  Yes,"  Newton  went  on.  "  Just  look  at  the 
other  side  of  the  room !  " 

Fleming  looked,  and  saw  rows  upon  rows  of 
glass  vials  rilled  with  alcohol  and  containing 
**  specimens " — a  five-legged  frog  in  one,  an 
appendix  in  another,  and  then  a  succession  of 
test-tubes  containing  a  jelly-like  substance  and 
labeled  "cultures."  "Bacillus  typhi"  caught 
Fleming's  eye. 

"  Pleasant ! "  he  exclaimed. 

"  Yes,  indeed ;  very,"  Newton  answered. 
"  I  'm  glad  you  feel  so.  Some  people  don't ; 
but  I  was  sure  you  would  take  an  intelligent 
interest.  I  should  like  to  show  you  some  of 
my  experiments,  if  you  'd  only  stay  over  next 
week." 

"  Thank  you,"  murmured  Fleming,  hastily, 
"  but  it  's  quite  impossible  !  " 

"  You  know,"  Newton  went  on,  scarcely  tak- 
ing in  Fleming's  response,  "  I  am  in  the  midst 
of  an  article  for  *  Pure  Science '  on  the  Musca 
domestic  a,  or  common  house-fly,  as  a  dangerous 
enemy  of  mankind.  These  are  my  material." 


MAXWELL  NEWTON  111 

With  this  he  opened  the  door  into  a  sort  of  pen 
stocked  with  rabbits  and  guinea-pigs.  "  The 
ones  in  the  cages  have  not  yet  been  inoculated. 
Those  which  have  been,  and  are  under  observa- 
tion, are  kept  in  a  special  hospital  about  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  away.  Of  course  every  precaution  is 
taken ;  the  dead  animals  are  cremated,  and  there 
is  no  possibility  of  the  communication  of  disease 
to  human  beings.  Still  people  are  so  foolish 
about  such  things  that  I  have  thought  it  better 
not  to  mention  my  experiments  to  my  neighbors." 

"A  wise  precaution!"  Fleming  assented. 

"Yes;  caution  is  always  necessary  in  dealing 
with  ignorant  prejudice.  Now  to  an  intelligent 
layman  like  you  it  would  be  a  pleasure  to  ex- 
plain my  process.  The  flies  are  allowed  to  plant 
their  feet  in  one  of  these  *  cultures,'  you  see,  and 
then  their — " 

"Excuse  me!"  interrupted  Fleming.  "It  is 
of  no  use  for  me  to  pose  as  an  intelligent  ob- 
server. The  fact  is,  I  rather  loathe  the  whole 
business.  Would  you  object  to  coming  back 
into  the  other  room  and  shutting  the  door  ?  " 

"  Why,  of  course,  if  you  'd  rather,"  assented 
Newton ;  but  his  face  fell. 

Fleming,  perceiving  his  disappointment,  con- 
tinued the  conversation  by  asking :  "  Is  this  the 
principal  work  upon  which  you  're  engaged?" 


112     FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

"  No ;  oh,  no,"  Newton  answered,  brightening 
a  little.  "  My  real  work,  the  one  that  goes  on 
year  in  and  year  out,  is  the  study  of  cellular 
psychology." 

"  Is  it  really  ?  "  Fleming  exclaimed,  with  a  fair 
imitation  of  enthusiasm,  secretly  wondering  what 
the  deuce  it  was  all  about 

"  Yes ;  I  regard  that  as  the  greatest  field  open 
to  the  scientist  to-day.  It  is  at  the  very  hub  of 
nature's  wheel,  which  goes  whirling  on,  swinging 
from  lifelessness  through  life  back  to  life- 
lessness." 

"  Would  you  mind  saying  that  over  again  *? 
But  if  it 's  too  much  trouble,  you  need  n't,  you 
know." 

"  Why,  you  must  understand !  A  child  could 
see  that  —  how  the  plant  raises  inert  matter  to 
the  living  world,  while  the  animal  destroys  living 
matter  and  gives  it  back  to  the  earth,  and  all  the 
while  the  blind  instinct  of  the  imperceptible  atom 
is  in  all  and  through  all  and  the  secret  of  all. 
You  understand  ?  " 

"  I  'm  sure  you  could  n't  make  it  clearer.'* 

"Precisely.  Then  you  see  that,  just  as  we 
take  the  material  cell  as  the  unit  in  the  biological 
world,  we  must  accept  the  cell-soul  as  the  ele- 
mentary unit  in  the  psychological  world." 

"  Now,  see  here,  Newton ! "  Fleming  began, 


MAXWELL  NEWTON  113 

when  the  conversation  was  interrupted  by  a 
knock  at  the  door  and  the  announcement  that 
supper  had  been  ready  for  some  time  and  Mrs. 
Newton  said  would  n't  they  please  come. 

Fleming  rose  with  alacrity.  Newton,  on  the 
other  hand,  frowned  and  ran  his  fingers  impa- 
tiently through  his  backward-falling  iron-gray 
hair. 

"Just  the  way,"  he  muttered,  "always  the 
way !  They  wait  till  some  one  in  the  house  gets 
his  brain  at  work,  and  then  they  ring  a  bell  or 
knock  on  the  door,  or  raise  some  infernal  racket 
—  for  what?  To  let  him  know  that  meat  and 
potato  are  on  the  table.  For  Heaven's  sake,  why 
should  hours  for  eating  be  so  sacred,  and  hours 
for  reading,  thinking,  or  talking  be  broken  in 
upon  without  apology!"  Nevertheless,  he  rose 
and  led  the  way  to  the  dining-room,  where 
George  and  Mrs.  Newton  were  waiting,  the 
former  frankly  hungry,  the  latter  gently  queru- 
lous and  begging  Fleming  not  to  blame  her  if 
the  soup  were  cold. 

A  silence  fell  as  they  took  their  seats,  and 
Fleming  had  full  opportunity  to  note  the  differ- 
ence between  the  aggregation  that  makes  a 
household  and  the  congregation  that  makes  a 
home.  These  three  human  beings  had  no  more 
in  common  as  a  fund  for  spontaneous  conversa- 


114     FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

tion  than  if  they  had  gathered  from  the  corners 
of  the  earth.  Each  threw  down  a  gauntlet  in  the 
shape  of  a  remark  on  a  subject  interesting  to 
himself,  but  as  no  one  took  it  up,  no  tournaments 
ensued,  and  the  tilts  were  solitary  canters. 

"  The  peas  are  late  this  year,"  was  Mrs.  New- 
ton's first  contribution  to  the  conversation  this 
evening. 

Fleming  responded  that  such  peas  as  these 
were  worth  waiting  for. 

Mrs.  Newton  was  glad  he  thought  so  and 
would  n't  he  be  helped  to  some  more? 

"  Father,"  broke  in  George,  who  had  been 
surreptitiously  reading  the  evening  paper  which 
he  held  under  the  table,  "they  've  begun  the 
summer  concerts.  May  I  go  to  the  city  to  hear 
one  next  week4?" 

"No,"  said  his  father,  shortly.  Whereupon 
George  bit  his  lip  and  looked  as  though  if  he 
had  been  a  girl  he  might  have  cried. 

Fleming  felt  sorry  for  him. 

"  Perhaps,"  he  said,  turning  to  Newton,  "  you 
will  let  George  spend  the  night  in  town  and 
go  to  a  concert  with  me  sometime." 

"As  you  like,"  said  Newton,  indifferently; 
"but  I  can't  understand  George.  Here,  last 
month,  when  I  wanted  him  to  go  to  a  meeting 
of  the  Geographical  Society  with  me,  he  said 


MAXWELL  NEWTON  115 

that  no  entertainment  in  town  paid  for  the 
journey." 

Fleming  bowed  his  head  over  his  plate  to 
conceal  a  smile.  As  he  did  so,  his  eyes  fell  upon 
a  fly  making  its  way  leisurely  across  the  table- 
cloth. What  if — awful  thought  —  what  if  this 
fly  had  experienced  a  "culture"! 

He  strove  to  rid  his  face  of  all  misgivings 
before  he  looked  up ;  but  he  might  have  spared 
himself  the  trouble.  Newton's  mind  was  too 
preoccupied  to  take  much  heed  of  the  expres- 
sions of  his  neighbors.  He  proceeded  now  un- 
moved with  the  train  of  thought  which  he  had 
been  following. 

"  That  was  an  interesting  man,  that  friend  of 
yours  whom  I  met  at  the  club  a  month  or  two  ago. 
I  've  come  across  him  two  or  three  times  since. 
What  was  his  name  ?  Walden  ?  Walworth  ?  " 

"  Walford,"  said  Fleming.  "He  is  n't  a  friend 
of  mine;  only  an  acquaintance.  Did  you  find 
him  interesting  ?  " 

*'  As  a  study,  yes." 

"  You  were  not  drawn  to  him  as  an  indi- 
vidual *?  " 

"  I  don't  say  that ;  but  I  would  not  trust  him, 
not  in  any  enterprise  which  I  had  much  at 
heart." 

"  I  never  doubted  his  honesty." 


n6     FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

"Not  his  honesty,  perhaps,  but  his  integrity, 
his  whole-souledness,  that  is.  His  enthusiasms 
are  too  facile.  He  is  too  sensitive,  too  appre- 
ciative, too  feminine.  I  find  that  the  more  an 
individual  shares  the  peculiarities  of  the  opposite 
sex,  the  weaker  it  is,  the  less  chance  of  survival 
it  has.  I  wonder,  by  the  way,  if  Walworth — 
Walford  is  going  to  marry  Mrs.  Blythe." 

Fleming  dropped  his  napkin  and  stooped  to 
pick  it  up. 

"  Have  you  heard  any  such  report*?"  he  asked. 

"  I  am  not  sure  whether  I  have  actually  heard 
it  or  whether  I  formed  the  impression  from 
seeing  them  together  several  times.  On  that 
day  when  she  sailed,  I  met  him  coming  off  the 
pier,  and  he  looked  quite  broken  up.  You  'd 
have  thought  that  he  had  said  good-by  to  his  last 
friend.  That  's  what  I  object  to ;  he  has  no  self- 
control,  no  governor  to  his  engine." 

"  Don't  you  think  Mr.  Fleming  would  like  to 
take  his  coftee  on  the  porch,  Father  ? "  Mrs. 
Newton  asked.  She  always  called  Newton 
"Father,"  as  if  his  only  relation  to  her  were 
through  their  child. 

"  An  excellent  idea ! "  exclaimed  Fleming, 
glad  to  be  rid  of  the  heat  and  the  flies  and  the 
subject  of  Walford. 

George  turned  in  at  the  door  of  the  sitting- 


MAXWELL  NEWTON  117 

room,  and  picking  up  the  score  of  "  Tristan," 
began  to  read  it  as  he  would  read  a  novel.  Mrs. 
Newton  established  herself  with  her  embroidery 
under  the  light  of  an  electric  piano-lamp,  and  the 
master  of  the  house,  accompanied  by  his  guest, 
strolled  out  to  the  porch,  where  Fleming  seated 
himself  on  the  broad,  flat  railing.  Newton  of- 
fered cigars ;  but  Fleming  drew  out  a  pipe,  which 
he  filled  lovingly,  pressing  down  the  tobacco 
with  his  thumb  and  first  finger.  As  he  lighted 
it,  he  heard  a  cough,  a  slight,  dry,  hacking  cough 
which  made  him  shiver.  His  older  brother  had 
died  of  phthisis,  and  he  knew  the  sound. 

"  Who  is  that  coughing  *?  "  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  that  's  George.  He  has  formed  the 
habit  of  it  lately." 

"  Formed  the  habit  of  it  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  it  often  bothers  me  when  I  am  trying 
to  study." 

"  But  does  n't  it  worry  you  *?  " 

"  It  does  a  little.  In  fact,  I  sent  him  to  a 
doctor  here, —  you  know,  physicians  never  like 
to  tinker  up  their  own  families, —  and  Grey  says 
it  would  be  a  good  plan  for  George  to  go  South 
or  abroad,  to  Italy  perhaps,  for  the  winter.  I 
can't  see  my  way  to  it,  and  I  dare  say  the  boy 
will  do  just  as  well  at  home  here,  with  the  proper 
medicines." 


ii8     FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

"  He  is  fond  of  the  violin,  he  tells  me." 

"Oh,  he  thinks  he  is — no  genius  for  it;  no- 
thing that  makes  it  worth  while." 

"  But  if  he  enjoys  it  — " 

"  He  must  learn  to  enjoy  the  kind  of  thing  in 
which  he  can  succeed." 

"  Has  George  a  taste  for  science  ?  " 

"He  will  have  —  he  must  have.  It  takes  time 
at  first,  of  course,  and  much  drudgery ;  but  the 
reward  is  so  immense  that  none  except  the  dullest 
of  the  dull  would  stop  to  count  the  cost." 

"  Might  not  the  same  be  true  of  music  *?  " 

"Not  at  all.  Music  is  only  an  amusement, 
with  no  intellectual  element  in  it;  at  any  rate, 
till  we  reach  the  grade  of  the  composer.  The 
musician,  the  performer  on  an  instrument,  is  only 
a  step  above  the  clog-dancer.  What  a  thing  to 
give  a  life  to ! " 

Fleming  saw  that  further  argument  was  useless. 
He  puffed  at  his  pipe  in  silence,  watching  the 
embers  glow  and  darken  in  the  bowl.  In  his 
heart  he  wondered  how  it  could  come  to  pass 
that  there  should  be  so  little  mutual  understand- 
ing between  those  of  the  same  blood. 

At  last,  more  by  way  of  changing  the  current 
of  talk  than  from  vital  interest,  he  asked : 

"  Have  you  ever  regretted  giving  up  the  prac- 
tice of  medicine,  Newton  *?  " 


MAXWELL  NEWTON  119 

"  No,  a  thousand  times  no ! "  was  the  almost 
explosive  answer. 

Fleming  murmured  something  about  a  noble 
profession,  alleviating  of  human  suffering,  saving 
of  human  life. 

"Ah,  there  it  is!"  Newton  broke  in  impa- 
tiently. "  We  have  grown  to  have  such  an 
exorbitant  estimate  of  the  value  of  the  individual 
life.  Where  do  we  get  it  ?  Not  from  nature, 
surely.  She  makes  short  work  of  the  individual 
who  puts  himself  in  the  path  of  her  laws.  The 
physicians  pride  themselves  on  their  success  if 
they  prolong  for  a  few  years  the  existence  of 
Tom  or  Dick  or  Harry,  when  nature  would  have 
put  them  all  out  of  the  way  to  make  room  for  bet- 
ter men.  Oh,  I  'm  not  finding  fault  with  the  doc- 
tors. I  used  to  feel  so  myself;  but  I  've  put  all 
that  behind  me  as  a  childishness.  Why,  merely 
on  the  ground  of  philanthropy,  discoveries  like 
those  of  Koch  and  Virchow  and  Pasteur  and 
Jenner  outweigh  by  a  thousandfold  any  petty 
results  of  a  tinkering  doctor  who  gives  up  his 
life  to  taking  care  of  a  few  old  women ;  and  as 
for  the  unfolding  of  great  laws  like  those  laid 
down  by  Darwin  and  Kepler,  they  simply  open 
a  new  world  to  millions,  widening  their  horizon, 
lifting  them  higher  in  the  scale  of  sentient  be- 
ings—  that  's  the  sphere  of  pure  science." 


120    FOUR  ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

"  Oh,  if  that 's  the  way  you  look  at  it ! " 

"To  be  perfectly  frank  with  you,  Fleming, 
that  is  n't  the  way  I  look  at  it  at  all.  If  you 
wish  the  real  truth,  I  never  think  about  human 
beings  or  their  interests." 

*'  A  strange  mortal ! "  thought  Fleming.  "  One 
is  tempted  to  ask :  If  a  man  love  not  his  brother 
whom  he  hath  seen,  how  can  he  love  truth  which 
he  hath  not  seen  ?  How  can  the  abstract  take 
such  hold  upon  the  soul  as  wholly  to  extinguish 
the  personal,  to  drive  out  the  consciousness  of  the 
individual  which  separates  man  from  the  brutes ! 
Is  it  an  advance  or  a  retrogression  *? " 

He  continued  this  course  of  thought  after  the 
lights  were  out  and  he  had  lain  down  in  his 
room,  where  he  felt  like  one  of  the  wretched  folk 
in  the  city  of  Dis  in  their  red-hot  tombs  with  the 
lifted  lids.  Even  they,  he  told  himself,  were  not 
tormented  with  mosquitos. 

Sleep  he  could  not,  and  every  now  and  then 
his  ears  were  assailed  by  that  dry,  thin,  hard  little 
cough.  "How  long  can  this  thing  last,"  he 
asked  himself,  "and  how  can  Newton  be  so 
blind?  It  is  as  bad  as  murder  to  sit  still  and 
do  nothing." 

Then  he  began  to  be  afraid  that  if  he  thought 
of  it  any  more  he  should  try  to  do  something 
about  it  himself.  There  he  drew  the  line.  It 


MAXWELL    NEWTON  121 

was  none  of  his  responsibility  and  he  would  not 
make  it  so.  He  was  planning  to  go  away  for  a 
trip  next  winter,  but  he  meant  it  to  be  a  pleasure- 
trip.  He  certainly  had  no  intention  of  escorting 
an  invalid  boy  who  was  a  vicioso  on  the  fiddle ; 
not  he — no  such  fool.  At  this  point  Fleming 
turned,  tucked  in  the  mosquito-netting,  and  went 
to  sleep. 

On  Monday  morning  he  stood  on  the  steps 
waiting  for  the  dog-cart,  which,  like  Vergil's  robe 
to  Dante,  represented  a  blessed  promise  of  escape. 
Quite  to  his  own  surprise,  he  heard  himself  say- 
ing casually:  "By  the  way,  Newton,  I  am  plan- 
ning to  go  to  Italy  next  winter.  If  you  'd  like  to 
have  George  go  with  me,  just  say  so." 


VIII 

THREE    LETTERS 
"  Black-and-white  Angels  of  Revelation. " 

ONE  morning  in  the  early  autumn,  Fleming 
found  on  his  desk  a  letter  bearing  a  French 
stamp.  The  handwriting  told  him  that  it  came 
from  Mrs.  Blythe.  He  laid  it  aside  and  did  not 
open  it  till  the  stress  of  the  day's  business  was 
over.  This  was  done  partly  as  self-discipline 
and  partly  in  order  to  convince  himself  that  the 
contents  had  no  special  interest  for  him.  Never- 
theless, more  than  once  he  permitted  himself  to 
take  the  envelope  between  his  fingers  and  en- 
deavor to  estimate  the  length  of  the  letter  by  its 
thickness — a  problem  for  which  there  is  no 
mathematical  formula.  When  at  last  he  broke 
the  seal  he  discovered  with  a  satisfaction  which 
he  would  not  admit  that  the  letter  was  long  and 
closely  written. 

"DEAR  MR. FLEMING  [it  ran]:  The  postmark  of 
St.  Malo  on  this  letter  does  not  indicate  that  we 

122 


THREE   LETTERS  123 

live  there,  but  only  that  we  drive  to  that  town  to 
get  and  send  our  mail.  We  are  traveling,  or  rather 
resting  from  travel,  with  Lord  and  Lady  Camp- 
bell and  their  curious  assortment  of  sons  and 
daughters  and  dogs  and  men-  and  maid-servants. 
They  let  us  alone  as  only  English  people  can 
let  you  alone — that  is,  without  prejudice  to  your 
attractions  or  their  appreciation.  The  son,  young 
Hawtree  Campbell,  is  an  agreeable  man.  He 
means  to  stand  for  Parliament  next  year — all 
because  we  have  been  twitting  him  with  his  idle- 
ness. I  am  rather  sorry,  for  I  like  to  have  people 
stay  in  their  type,  and  his  type  is  emphatically 
that  of  the  leisure  class." 

Here  Fleming  laid  the  letter  down  on  his 
desk,  and  smoothed  the  open  page  mechanically. 
"Now,  why  does  she  write  that  to  me*?"  he 
asked  himself.  "  Mrs.  Blythe  is  too  clever  to 
introduce  the  creditable  anecdote  for  its  own  sake. 
If  she  wishes  me  to  know  that  Hawtree  Campbell 
is  in  love  with  her,  why  not  say  so  and  let  it  alone? 
She  need  not  be  afraid  of  my  repeating  it." 

Fleming,  you  see,  judged  a  woman's  motives 
by  a  man's,  and  thereby  fell  into  many  and  griev- 
ous errors. 

"  I  wonder  [the  letter  continued]  how  you 
would  adapt  yourself  to  the  lazy  life  which  we 


124    FOUR  ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

are  leading  here.  Could  you  content  yourself 
with  strolls  on  the  beach,  crunching  mussel-shells 
under  your  heels,  or  with  drives  along  the  cliffs 
between  borders  of  funny,  stubbly  grass,  or  watch- 
ing the  sun  dip  into  the  ocean  to  the  west  of  us  ? 
That  is  the  thing  to  which  I  cannot  grow  accus- 
tomed over  here,  rinding  the  Atlantic  always  on 
the  wrong  side.  If  you  were  here,  and  brought 
your  logical  mind  to  bear,  I  dare  say  I  should 
come  to  understand  that  we  do  not  carry  our 
horizon  line  in  the 'trunk  when  we  travel.  If  we 
could  only  get  rid  of  our  mental  horizon  as  easily! 
Every  day  I  realize  the  truth  of  Lady  Kew's  say- 
ing that  we  belong  to  our  belongings ;  and  once 
in  a  while,  once  in  a  very  long  while,  I  feel  as  if 
I  should  like  to  be  rid  of  mine,  and  travel  about 
like  the  artist  who  is  sketching  under  my  win- 
dow, with  no  impedimenta  but  his  kit  and  his 
umbrella. 

"  I  have  discovered  in  myself  the  meanest 
jealousy — not  of  what  people  have,  but  of  what 
they  are.  All  the  time  while  I  am  watching  my 
artist  I  am  thinking :  "  Oh,  dear,  I  wish  I  could 
do  that !  "  After  all,  though,  should  I  be  satis- 
fied with  such  an  impersonal  life  *?  Would  any 
woman  be  satisfied  with  it  ?  I  suspect  I  should 
weary  of  it  in  the  end.  It  is  the  influence  of  my 
individuality  which  interests  me.  Better  be  the 


THREE   LETTERS  125 

inspiration  of  the  painter — Andrea  del  Sarto's  wife, 
for  instance,  if  she  had  had  the  brains  to  appre- 
ciate his  art,  or  that  Mona  Lisa  who  smiled  her 
crooked  smile  on  to  Leonardo's  canvas!  But 
a  man  would  n't  feel  so  —  would  he  ? 

"  Here  I  am  forgetting  that  you  are  a  busy 
lawyer  whose  time  is  of  value.  Therefore  to  the 
purpose  of  my  letter,  which  is  to  acknowledge 
your  letter  and  to  inclose  the  proxies  for  which 
you  ask.  I  shall  trust  to  your  judgment  entirely. 
The  rubber  stock  I  prefer  to  hold,  even  at  the 
risk  of  loss.  Perhaps  you  will  send  me  a  stock- 
list.  I  have  not  seen  one  for  a  long  while. 

"  Now  I  come  to  that  part  of  your  letter  which 
is  hardest  for  me  to  answer,  and  so,  like  a  cow- 
ard, I  have  put  it  off  till  the  last.  I  ask  myself: 
'  What  shall  I  say  of  Renee  Jaudon's  death  ?  ' 
Whatever  sentences  I  frame  sound  either  brutal 
or  hypocritical.  I  am  not  sorry  that  she  is  dead. 
I  am  not.  I  am  not.  After  all,  you  know,  why 
should  I  be,  except  as  it  makes  the  question  of 
the  child  more  importunate  ?  At  the  end  of  the 
year  I  suppose  I  must  come  to  some  decision 
about  that;  but  I  am  fully  determined  not  to 
burden  my  life  with  this  responsibility  which 
Fate  has  tried  to  thrust  upon  me.  The  child's 
very  existence  is  an  insult  to  me.  His  presence 
would  be  a  perpetual  reminder  of  all  that  I  most 


126   FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

wish  to  forget.  You  do  not  know  what  it  means. 
You  cannot,  or  you  could  never  have  said  so 
calmly  there  on  the  deck  of  the  steamer  that  we 
must  forgive  in  order  to  forget." 

"  Did  I  say  that  ?  "  thought  Fleming.  "  What 
a  prig  I  must  have  been !  It  sounds  like  the 
top  line  of  a  copy-book." 

"  I,  at  least,  can  neither  forgive  nor  forget  at 
present  [the  letter  went  on],  therefore  I  ,can 
only  ignore,  and  this  child  is  a  stumbling-block 
in  even  that  path.  My  idea  is,  if  possible,  to 
find  some  decent  person  who  will  adopt  the  boy 
and  bring  him  up  in  ignorance  of  his  parentage. 
This  will  be  the  kindest  course  toward  him. 
No,  perhaps  not  that,  but  the  only  possible  one 
for  me.  I  recognize  no  obligations  on  my  part 
beyond  those  of  common  charity. 

"  My  uncle  is  calling  me  to  watch  the  Breton 
women  gathering  seaweed.  They  are  a  picture 
in  their  tattered,  bright-colored  petticoats  against 
the  white  sand  and  blue  sea.  We  shall  be  here 
for  another  month,  and  after  that  it  will  be  safest 
to  address  me  in  care  of  my  bankers.  I  am  glad 
that  there  is  a  prospect  of  your  running  over  this 
winter.  If  we  meet  in  Rome,  remind  me  to  tell 
you  of  a  compliment  that  my  uncle  paid  you  the 


THREE   LETTERS  127 

other  day.     I  must  tell  you  also  of  his  comment 
on  my  portrait,  an  etching  by  Rajon. 

"  *  Anne,'  he  said,  '  you  have  not  really  much 
intellect  or  such  good  looks ;  but  the  clever  peo- 
ple think  you  good-looking  and  the  artistic  peo- 
ple think  you  clever.'  I  like  my  picture  because 
it  is  a  happy  blend  of  the  two  deceptions. 

"  Yours  sincerely, 

"ANNE  BLYTHE. 

"  P.  S.  If  you  see  Mr.  Walford,  please  tell 
him  that  Hawtree  Campbell  is  anxious  to  read 
his  last  Easter  sermon;  if  he  has  kept  the  notes 
perhaps  he  will  let  me  borrow  them. 

"A.  B." 

"  H'm,"  said  Fleming,  pushing  aside  the  page, 
"so  that  is  the  solution  of  the  riddle.  It  is  Wal- 
ford who  is  to  know  about  Hawtree  Campbell. 
Perhaps;  but  not  through  me." 

The  week  after  receiving  this  letter  from  Mrs. 
Blythe,  Fleming  wrote  an  answer  inclosing  the 
stock-list  for  which  she  had  asked.  It  so  chanced 
that  the  same  steamer  which  carried  his  letter  car- 
ried also  a  letter  from  Stuart  Walford'.  The  two 
were  brought  at  the  same  time  to  Mrs.  Blythe  as 
she  sat  with  Lady  Campbell  at  the  base  of  a  cross 
set  up  by  the  pious  Breton  peasants  on  the  edge 


128    FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

of  the  cliff,  a  few  rods  from  the  red-roofed  inn. 
Anne  turned  the  letters  in  her  hand,  and  at  sight 
of  "  St.  Simeon's  Parish  House "  in  the  corner 
of  one  envelope  she  flushed  so  high  that  Lady 
Campbell  noticed  it  and  said  considerately :  "  I 
think  I  will  explore  the  cove  down  below  there 
while  you  are  reading  your  mail." 

"  Very  well,"  Anne  assented.  "  If  there  is 
anything  of  interest,  I  will  read  it  aloud  when 
you  come  back." 

When  she  found  herself  alone  she  threw 
Fleming's  letter  lightly  on  the  grass  and  tore 
open  the  other  envelope  with  quick,  nervous 
fingers.  As  she  read,  her  brows  drew  together 
in  a  puzzled  frown  and  her  breath  came  short. 

"You  were  good  enough  [Walford  wrote] 
to  grant  me  permission  to  write  to  you  when 
you  went  abroad.  I  have  tried  several  times  to 
begin  a  letter ;  but  it  was  difficult.  My  life  here 
is  absorbing  to  me ;  yet  it  has  very  little  material 
of  general  interest,  so  if  I  write  it  must  be  of  the 
inner  and  not  the  outer  world,  and  more  of  you 
than  of  myself.  I  often  think  of  our  talks  last 
spring.  They  meant  a  great  deal  to  me.  You 
said  once  that  I  helped  you.  The  words  linger 
in  my  memory  and  give  me  courage  for  what  I 
am  going  to  say." 


THREE   LETTERS  129 

Here  several  words  were  erased,  as  if  a  sen- 
tence had  made  a  false  start  and  trotted  round  the 
track  for  a  fresh  one. 

"  My  object  in  writing  now  is  to  beg  you  to 
trust  me  [the  letter  went  on]  if  you  should  ever 
find  yourself  in  any  trouble  requiring  sympathy 
or  counsel.  I  know  that  you  have  the  wisest 
spiritual  guidance  close  at  hand;  but  we  cannot 
always  lay  bare  the  deep  things  of  our  lives  be- 
fore those  who  stand  nearest  us,  can  we  ?  That 
sorrow  is  only  half  a  sorrow  of  which  we  can 
speak  freely. 

"  Yet  it  does  not  do  to  lock  our  hearts  utterly, 
lest  we  shut  out  the  Holy  Spirit  when  it  comes 
to  strive  with  us.  I  sometimes  think  that  our 
church  made  a  fatal  mistake  in  breaking  with  the 
sacred  tradition  of  Rome  which  offers  her  chil- 
dren the  spiritual  sanctuary  of  the  confessional, 
where  the  burdened  soul  may  lay  down  its  load, 
sure  of  a  listening  ear,  a  sympathetic  heart,  an 
eternal  silence. 

"  Forgive  me  if  I  have  "said  too  much !  I 
could  not  say  less,  remembering  as  I  do  the  look 
in  your  eyes  on  that  day  when  we  first  met.  I 
shall  never  forget  it — I  cannot — I  do  not  wish  to. 

"You  will  answer  this,  will  you  not?  and  tell 
me  where  your  winter  is  to  be  spent.  A  task 


130    FOUR   ROADS   TO    PARADISE 

has  been  assigned  to  me  which  is  likely  to  take 
me  to  Geneva  in  the  late  winter  or  the  early 
spring,  and  nothing  shall  hinder  me  from  finding 
you  out  if  you  are  in  that  part  of  the  world." 

Walford's  signature  followed,  and  so  the  letter 
ended.  Anne  read  it  through  twice,  then  folded 
it  slowly  and  slipped  it  meditatively  into  its 
envelope,  after  which  she  leaned  back  against  the 
great  cross,  clasped  her  hands  about  her  knees, 
and  sat  staring  at  the  line  of  islands  rising  blue 
to  the  northwest.  "  What  does  it  mean  *?  "  she 
asked  herself,  and  found  no  answer. 

We  take  enormous  risks  when  we  send  off 
letters  to  our  friends.  The  mood  of  the  reader 
is  so  little  to  be  foreseen  by  the  writer!  Our 
trifling  jests  fall  on  breaking  hearts.  We  fill 
pages  with  our  swelling  emotions,  and  they  are 
scanned  by  eyes  of  cynical  amusement. 

Walford's  letter  left  Anne  baffled  and  bewil- 
dered. What  could  it  mean  *?  At  length,  after 
her  mind  had  wandered  through  puzzled  mazes 
for  a  long  while,  she  began  to  feel  that  she  had 
hold  of  a  clue.  It  must  be  that  to  Walford's 
life  of  strenuous  self-sacrifice  her  self-indulgence 
took  on  the  aspect  of  crime,  and  he  felt  that  he 
must  break  down  the  barriers  of  conventionality 
and  deliver  his  message  of  warning.  She  re- 


THREE   LETTERS  131 

spected  him  for  that,  though  she  thought  it  might 
have  been  done  with  something  less  of  solemnity 
— less  of  the  manner  of  the  Hebrew  prophets. 

Her  vanity  was  wounded  by  the  constraint  of 
the  letter  and  by  the  lack  of  that  something 
which  had  marked  his  bearing  on  the  steamer — 
something  as  impossible  to  explain  as  to  mistake, 
the  tutoiement  of  manner  underlying  indifferent 
speech.  Moreover,  the  ascetic  ideal  which  Wai- 
ford  represented  struck  a  chili  across  the  warm 
expansiveness  of  Anne's  mood.  She  shook  her 
head  wilfully  like  a  Shetland  pony,  and  turned 
to  Fleming's  letter. 

"  MY  DEAR  MRS.  BLYTHE  [Fleming  wrote] :  I 
understand  your  desire  to  hold  the  rubber  stock ; 
but  you  must  remember  that  all  industrials 
are  uncertain.  However,  it  was  agreed  before 
you  left  that  I  should  assume  no  responsibility 
for  your  individual  investments,  but  simply  act 
as  your  agent  except  where  I  act  as  trustee  for 
the  estate.  The  proxies  I  have  and  shall  try 
to  use  for  your  best  interest.  I  inclose  herewith 
the  stock-list  for  which  you  asked. 

"  Yesterday  I  received  a  report  from  the  Sis- 
ters of  St.  Clara.  Renee  Jaudon's  child  has  been 
ill,,  but  is  recovering.  Will  you  be  sorry,  1 
wonder?  They  seem  fond  of  it,  and  it  is  not 


132    FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

impossible  that  they  will  be  willing  to  undertake 
the  charge  for  another  year.  That  is  all  my 
news. 

"Your  wind-swept  cliffs  are  a  pleasant  con- 
trast to  my  close  office,  where  the  electric  light 
burns  all  day  and  sheds  a  circle  of  sham  sun- 
shine over  my  desk.  I  take  great  credit  to 
myself  for  not  being  more  envious  than  I  am ; 
but  there  are  always  compensations.  I,  for  in- 
stance, am  too  busy  to  be  bored  —  and  you  *?  " 

Anne  looked  off  from  the  letter,  and  her  eyes 
fell  on  Lady  Campbell,  wandering  along  the 
beach,  picking  up  shells  of  which  she  intended 
to  make  a  picture-frame  as  a  souvenir  of  St. 
Malo.  Mrs.  Blythe  had  thoroughly  appreciated 
the  companionship  of  these  kindly,  well-bred, 
well-placed  English  friends ;  but  she  realized  with 
swift  compunction  that  in  the  matter  of  interest 
there  might  still  be  something  to  be  desired. 
"Mr.  Fleming  would  be  more  agreeable,"  Anne 
decided,  "if  he  were  not  a  clairvoyant."  Then 
she  read  on : 

"  I  shall  soon  have  an  opportunity  of  testing 
my  own  power  of  enjoyment  as  an  idler.  We 
sail  by  the  Southern  route  late  in  January.  I 
think  I  wrote  you  that  George  Newton  is  going 


THREE   LETTERS  133 

with  me.  As  he  has  a  little  cough  of  his  own, 
we  shall  loiter  about  Naples  and  Capri  for  several 
weeks  and  shall  probably  reach  Rome  about  the 
time  when  you  are  leaving. 

**  I  was  much  interested  in  what  you  say  in 
your  letter  of  the  difference  between  a  man's 
ideals  and  a  woman's." 

"  What  did  I  say  about  ideals  *?  "  Anne  ques- 
tioned; but  not  being  able  to  remember,  she 
continued  reading: 

**  I  certainly  do  not  know  many  men  who 
would  be  contented  to  be  the  inspiration  of 
another  man's  work.  It  is  too  passive  a  form  of 
achievement  to  appeal  strongly  to  the  masculine 
mind.  As  to  *  the  influence  of  one's  individu- 
ality,'—  was  n't  that  your  phrase  ?  —  I  fancy 
most  men  would  rather  be  known  through  their 
work  than  through  their  personality.  For  myself, 
I  thoroughly  agree  with  Montaigne  that  one  is 
never  so  well  off  as  in  the  back  shop ;  but  then 
one  must  have  been  in  the  front  shop  first  to 
appreciate  it,  and,  moreover,  neither  he  nor  I  ever 
looked  at  life  from  the  standpoint  of  a  beautiful 
woman. 

"  Shall  I  see  your  portrait  if  we  meet  in  Rome? 
I  hope  so.  And  of  your  mercy,  Gracious  Lady, 


134    FOUR  ROADS  TO   PARADISE 

do  not  play  upon  my  vanity  by  asking  me  to 
remind  you  to  repeat  the  Bishop's  compliment. 
Dispense  it  affably  and  without  taking  notice  of 
my  confusion !  I  dearly  love  flattery,  but  not  at 
the  time  of  its  administering.  I  prefer  to  drag  it 
up  my  winding  stair  into  my  dismal  den,  and 
there,  like  the  spider,  to  gloat  over  it  unobserved. 
"My  respectful  regards  to  your  uncle,  whom 
I  have  admired  from  the  moment  of  our  meeting 
(true,  by  the  way),  also  to  Lord  and  Lady  Camp- 
bell ;  but  not  to  their  son :  I  have  a  notion  that 
I  should  not  like  him  —  I  don't  know  why. 
"  Yours  very  sincerely, 

"BLAIR  FLEMING," 

Anne  was  still  smiling  when  she  looked  up  to 
find  Lady  Campbell  quietly  sitting  near  her  on 
the  grass. 

"  My  letter  is  from  Mr.  Fleming,"  Anne  said. 
"He  is  my  lawyer.  He  sends  his  regards  to  you 
and  Lord  Campbell." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  him  again ! "  Lady 
Campbell  exclaimed  cordially.  "  He  is  not  only 
a  gentleman  but  an  interesting  man."  Then  she 
added,  after  a  reflective  pause : 

"  I  don't  wish  to  say  anything  nasty  about  the 
States ;  but  when  we  were  over  there  we  did»  not 
find  your  gentlemen  your  best  specimens.  My 


THREE   LETTERS  135 

husband  was  tremendously  impressed  with  your 
workingmen  —  they  were  so  intelligent  and  all 
that,  don't  you  know.  But  as  you  go  higher  and 
look  for  more,  you  often  don't  get  it." 

"  No,  you  don't ! "  Anne  admitted  candidly, 
and  then  added :  "  As  for  Mr.  Fleming,  you 
probably  will  meet  him  again  if  you  go  to  Rome 
with  us.  He  speaks  of  being  there  when  we 
are." 

Lady  Campbell  raised  her  eyebrows  question- 
ingly. 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Anne ;  "  he  is  not  in  love 
with  me.  He  admires  a  very  different  type  of 
woman.  I  suspect  that  his  most  complimentary 
adjective  would  be  'discreet.'" 

"  That  word  does  not  exactly  describe  you,  I 
admit." 

"  Thank  Heaven,  it  does  n't !  Discretion  is  a 
mean  combination  of  second-rate  virtues.  I  'd 
rather  wear  my  heart  on  my  sleeve  and  have  it 
fairly  riddled  with  daw-pecks  than  to  keep  it 
under  glass  like  a  French  clock.  Shall  we  go 
in?" 

Lady  Campbell  noticed  that  Mrs.  Blythe  had 
not  fulfilled  her  promise  of  reading  her  letters 
aloud,  and  she  drew  her  own  inferences.  They 
strolled  in  silence  across  the  moorland  stretching 
between  the  top  of  the  cliff  and  the  inn,  which 


136    FOUR  ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

boasted  a  gilded  monkey  hanging  before  its 
doorway,  and  rejoiced  in  the  name  of  Le  Singe 
d'Or.  The  dry  grasses  crackled  beneath  their 
feet,  the  mellow  autumn  air  blew  softly  against 
their  faces.  Anne  took  off  her  hat  that  she  might 
feel  it  stronger  on  her  forehead. 

"I  wish  to  be  good,"  she  said  at  last,  breaking 
the  silence.  "  But  I  should  hate  to  be  too  good. 
As  far  as  I  can  see,  the  better  you  are  the  less 
comfort  you  get  out  of  it.  I  mean  to  keep  a  firm 
hand  on  my  conscience  if  I  find  it  growing  too 
sensitive." 

Lady  Campbell  laughed.  "  Here  comes  Haw- 
tree,"  she  said. 


IX 


UP    AT    THE    VILLA 

"  What  of  a  villa  ?     Though  winter  be  over  in  March  by  rights, 
*T  is  May  perhaps  ere  the  snow  shall  have  withered  well  off  the  heights. 
You  've  the  brown  plowed  land  before  where  the  oxen  steam  and  wheeze, 
And  the  hills  over-smoked  behind  by  the  faint  gray  olive-trees." 

MY  dear  Anne,  whenever  you  feel  that  it 
would  relieve  your  mind  to  say  some- 
thing, don't  say  it!" 

Bishop  Alston  and  his  niece  had  been  travel- 
ing together  for  ten  months,  and  the  Bishop  had 
arrived  at  a  tolerably  clear  understanding  of 
Mrs.  Blythe's  character,  at  least  in  its  superficial 
phases.  This  remark  was  the  result  of  his  obser- 
vation. They  had  been  talking  of  Eunice  Yates, 
who,  like  them,  was  spending  the  spring  in  Flor- 
ence, and  who  had  just  sent  a  note  saying  that 
she  should  come  up  to  take  tea  with  them.  This 
afternoon  tea  was  a  pleasant  thing  as  Mrs.  Blythe 
served  it  on  the  terrace  of  the  pink-stuccoed 
villa  on  the  slope  of  the  Fiesole  hill.  The  slant 


138    FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

sunlight  fell  across  the  red  roofs  of  the  city,  re- 
ducing them  to  a  ruddy  blur,  through  which  the 
shaft  of  the  Campanile  and  the  burly  cube  of  the 
Palazzo  Vecchio  rose  solid  and  tangible.  Be- 
yond, the  distance  softened  into  the  terraced 
heights  of  San  Miniato. 

Anne  had  just  returned  from  a  drive  and  still 
wore  her  black-plumed  hat  and  black  gloves,  which 
with  her  white  gown  made  a  combination  too 
effective  to  be  missed  by  the  most  obtuse  mind, 
and  Anne's  mind  was  not  obtuse.  At  present, 
however,  her  attention  was  fixed,  not  upon  the 
gown,  but  on  her  uncle's  words.  She  pondered 
with  intently  knit  brows  while  she  fed  bits  of 
bread  from  her  plate  to  a  black  bird  perched  on 
the  carved  back  of  her  chair.  It  was  a  mina- 
bird,  and  the  mina-bird,  as  every  one  knows,  was 
made  by  Mephistopheles  in  a  moment  of  mock- 
ery. It  outranks  a  parrot  in  cleverness  as  a  par- 
rot outranks  a  canary,  and  makes  its  living  by 
scoffing  at  the  human  beings  around,  till  they 
are  fain  to  stop  its  mocking  mouth  with  titbits. 
Such  a  genius  did  the  bird  possess  for  voicing 
the  inmost  thoughts  and  lighting  upon  the  secret 
weaknesses  that  Mrs.  Blythe,  who  had  bought 
him  of  an  English  sailor  at  Naples,  straightway 
changed  his  name  from  the  Indian  one  he  bore 
to  "  Conscience." 


UP  AT   THE   VILLA  139 

"  I  must  say  it,"  said  Mrs.  Blythe,  still  looking 
at  the  bird  over  her  shoulder.  "  It  is  like  steam 
gathering  in  a  boiler  —  the  longer  I  keep  it 
shut  up,  the  bigger  the  explosion  when  it  comes. 
If  I  could  just  once  speak  out  from  the  shoul- 
der— " 

"  A  mixed  metaphor,  my  dear." 

"  Never  mind.  If  I  could  once  say,  '  Eunice, 
you  are  a  fraud.  You  know  it,  and  I  know  it,' 
we  might  go  on  being  friends;  but  as  to  eternally 
accepting  her  valuation  of  herself,  her  false  in- 
voice of  her  own  virtues,  I  can't  and  I  won't." 

"  Can't  and  won't,"  echoed  Conscience. 

Anne  laughed. 

"  After  all,"  said  the  Bishop,  "  she  deceives  no 
one  in  the  long  run." 

"  No ;  but  in  the  short  run  she  does.  She  de- 
ceives me  in  spite  of  myself.  When  I  hear  that 
she  is  in  the  drawing-room,  I  say  to  myself,  'Now, 
mind,  don't  believe  a  word  she  says  to  you,'  and 
before  I  have  been  with  her  five  minutes  she  is 
molding  my  opinion  of  people  and  things,  and 
I  find  myself  taking  up  her  prejudices,  which,  by 
the  way,  she  discards  promptly  whenever  they 
are  likely  to  cause  her  any  annoyance." 

"Anne,  your  dislike  of  Eunice  Yates  is  exces- 
sive —  positively  morbid.  What  is  the  secret 
of  it?  What  lies  at  the  root  of  it  all  ?  " 


140    FOUR  ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

"  Chiefly,  I  think,  the  excellence  of  her  mo- 
tives. They  are  too  good.  They  pass  the 
bounds  of  human  credulity,  and  so  we  earth- 
worms, who  cannot  grasp  such  transcendent  vir- 
tue, begin  to  grope  about  to  find  less  worthy  ones 
and  fit  them  to  the  case.  Now,  for  instance,  here 
is  Eunice's  note  to-day.  She  says  that  she  has  not 
been  able  to  sleep  on  account  of  her  sympathy 
with  my  headache  yesterday.  She  has  heard  at 
the  pension  of  a  remedy,  and  if  I  don't  object  she 
will  come  up  and  bring  it  this  afternoon." 

"  Now,  even  you  cannot  deny  that  that  is  a 
kindness,  Anne." 

Mrs.  Blythe  crinkled  her  eyelids  till  their  lashes 
met,  and  shook  her  head. 

"  You  do  not  perhaps  remember  my  opening 
a  note  the  other  day  when  she  was  here.  You 
made  some  inquiry  about  it,  and  I  told  you  that  it 
was  from  Mr.  Walford,  that  he  was  staying  in 
Florence  for  a  few  days,  and  that  he  asked  if  I 
were  to  be  at  home  this  afternoon.  You  went 
on  to  repeat  all  that  Dr.  Milner  had  said  of  Mr. 
Walford's  success  and  popularity." 

"Ah! "said  the  Bishop;  but  he  was  not  think- 
ing of  Eunice  Yates.  His  eyes  were  fixed  upon 
the  rising  color  in  Anne's  face,  and  he  noted  a 
slight  tremble  in  her  voice  as  she  spoke.  He 
had  not  been  oblivious  of  the  interest  with  which 


UP   AT   THE   VILLA  141 

his  niece  had  listened  to  every  passage  in  Milner's 
letters  mentioning  Walford's  name,  or  of  the 
pleasure  with  which  she  had  heard  of  his  rapid 
advancement.  How  much  of  this  interest  lay  on 
the  surface  and  how  far  its  roots  ran  into  the 
depth  of  feeling  he  was  unable  to  discover,  so  he 
waited.  Few  men  understood  so  well  the  art  of 
waiting.  Regarding  himself  as  the  custodian  of 
Walford's  secret,  he  did  not  feel  at  liberty  to  give 
any  hint  to  Anne,  or  even  a  caution  not  to  be- 
stow her  heart  upon  a  man  pledged,  in  a  sense, 
to  make  no  return. 

His  reflections  were  interrupted  by  the  tinkle 
of  the  bell  at  the  iron  gate,  and  a  moment  later 
the  servant  appeared,  followed  closely  by  Stuart 
Walford,  who  advanced  toward  Mrs.  Blythe 
with  a  constrained  smile.  Its  conventionality 
belied  the  flush  on  his  face  and  the  high  excite- 
ment of  his  eyes.  The  color  was  reflected  on 
Anne's  cheeks,  and  more  than  the  common  wel- 
come dwelt  in  the  ring  of  her  voice  and  in  her 
quickly  extended  hand. 

Bishop  Alston  was  struck  by  the  change  which 
these  ten  months  had  wrought  in  Walford's  ap- 
pearance—  a  change  none  the  less  convincing 
because  indefinable.  Was  it  that  the  ascetic  line 
of  r.iS  cheek  had  acquired  a  shade  of  fullness, 
that  his  eyes  took  in  more  and  gave  out  less, 


142    FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

that  his  manner  had  gained  in  accustomedness, 
in  the  air  of  the  world,  or  was  it  only  the  closer 
cut  of  the  hair,  the  better  tailoring  of  his  clerical 
coat?  Such  small  things  go  to  make  up  the 
totality  of  an  impression ! 

For  a  moment  Walford  was  wholly  absorbed 
in  the  vision  of  Anne  as  she  stood  there  in  her 
white  gown;  he  held  her  in  an  intense  gaze  as 
if  he  sought  to  fathom  her  very  soul ;  then  sud- 
denly he  turned  and  caught  the  Bishop's  eyes 
fixed  upon  him. 

"  This  is  an  unexpected  pleasure ! "  he  ex- 
claimed. "  Dr.  Milner  told  me  that  you  were 
going  back  to  America  on  the  1st,  leaving  Mrs. 
Blythe  here  for  the  month." 

"  I  was,"  replied  the  Bishop,  "  but  circum- 
stances changed  my  plans." 

"  The  more  fortunate  for  me  !  "  rejoined  Wal- 
ford, with  what  the  Bishop  considered  unwar- 
rantable glibness  in  addressing  his  superior.  He 
preferred  the  embarrassment  of  last  year.  The 
Bishop  never  showed  himself  tenacious  of  his 
dignity  unless  some  one  failed  to  recognize  it. 

"  Indeed,"  Walford  went  on,  "  I  was  so  un- 
certain in  regard  to  Mrs.  Blythe's  movements 
that  I  thought  it  best  to  come  here  at  once  in- 
stead of  stopping  at  Geneva,  where  I  was  bound 
for  the  Conference  of  Missions." 


UP  AT   THE  VILLA  143 

"  Ah ! "  said  the  Bishop,  with  the  falling  in- 
flection which  tells  of  satisfied  interrogation. 

"  What  is  this  conference  ?  "  Anne  inquired 
with  specious  interest.  In  reality  nothing  was 
further  from  her  thoughts,  which  were  wholly 
occupied  with  speculation  as  to  the  meaning  of 
Walford's  coming.  "  Before  you  begin,  though, 
let  me  give  you  your  tea,  unless  you  prefer  going 
into  the  house." 

"  Oh,  please  not !  Remember  I  come  from  a 
region  where  we  don't  sit  out  of  doors  at  this 
time  of  the  year,  where  we  don't  have  a  scene 
like  this  spread  out  before  us  at  any  time." 

"Very  well,"  assented  Anne,  leaning  back  in 
her  chair  as  she  softly  moved  the  samovar  and 
lifted  ,the  cups  with  her  delicate  fingers. 

Walford  began  to  feel  the  old  bondage  steal- 
ing over  him.  For  the  moment  he  yielded  him- 
self wholly  to  its  charm. 

"  And  the  conference  ?  "  suggested  the  Bishop. 

"  The  conference,"  Walford  answered  with 
enthusiasm,  **  is  really  the  finest  thing  of  the  cen- 
tury. Fancy  all  the  denominations  coming  to- 
gether to  compare  their  methods  of  mission  work, 
to  study  the  needs  of  the  heathen  in  the  uttermost 
parts  of  the  world,  to  consider  what  form  of  reli- 
gious teaching  reaches  them  best  and  why,  and  to 
consider,  too,  what  we  have  to  learn  from  them!" 


144     FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

"  What  is  the  standing  of  the  Church  as  com- 
pared with  the  sects,  in  mission  work  *? "  the 
Bishop  asked. 

"  Oh,  we  stand  well  up  in  the  ranks ;  but  our 
converts  seem  to  be  less  affected  in  the  matter  of 
changing  their  way  of  life." 

"  I  'm  not  surprised,"  the  Bishop  assented, 
balancing  his  spoon  absently  on  the  edge  of  his 
cup.  "  It  is  true  in  civilized  countries  as  well. 
The  laisser-faire  of  the  Church  attracts  but  does 
not  compel." 

"And  you,  Mr.  Walford,"  broke  in  Anne, 
impatient  to  end  the  theological  discussion, 
"  what  part  do  you  take  in  the  conference  ?  " 

"  I  am  to  give  a  paper  on  the  condition  of  the 
Hawaiian  lepers  and  their  spiritual  needs.  It  is 
a  subject  which  has  interested  me  for  a  long 
time." 

Here  he  cast  a  sidelong  glance  at  the  Bishop, 
who  received  it  imperturbably. 

"  Goodness,  what  a  ghastly  theme  !  "  mur- 
mured Anne,  with  a  shrug  of  her  shoulders. 
"  Leprosy  is  so  hopeless  !  If  the  lepers  can  find 
any  comfort  in  sin,  why  not  let  them  ?  Don't 
you  think  it 's  rather  cruel  to  add  a  sense  of  re- 
sponsibility to  their  other  burdens  *?  " 

"  Oh,  Cousin  Anne  ! "  exclaimed  a  soft  voice 
from  behind  her  shoulder.  Anne  scarcely  turned. 


UP   AT   THE  VILLA  145 

"That  you,  Eunice?  Let  me  present  Mr. 
Walford, — Miss  Yates.  You  heard  part  of  our 
talk  evidently." 

Walford,  rising,  faced  a  slender  girl  with  a 
smooth  sweep  of  hair,  and  eyes  of  a  sweet,  serious 
gray.  The  eyes  met  his  with  an  understanding 
and  sympathy  which  went  far  to  console  him  for 
the  shock  caused  by  Mrs.  Blythe's  words. 

"  Yes,"  said  Eunice,  placing  her  profile  be- 
tween Walford  and  the  view,  while  she  spoke  to 
Anne,  "  I  heard,  and  was  so  interested  I  could 
not  bear  to  interrupt.  I  know  Mr.  Walford  by 
reputation  already.  I  hoped  that  he  was  going 
on  to  tell  something  of  those  poor  lepers  and  of 
that  lonely  life  of  theirs." 

"Eunice,  you  're  a  fraud!  " 

The  voice  that  uttered  these  words  came  from 
the  black  imp  in  the  shape  of  a  bird,  which  had 
forsaken  the  back  of  Mrs.  Blythe's  chair  for  a 
perch  on  the  balustrade.  His  words  sent  a  shock 
through  the  entire  company.  Anne  blushed. 
Eunice  looked  at  her  with  reproachful  compre- 
hension. The  Bishop  fingered  his  spectacles 
uneasily,  and  Walford  fairly  started  from  his 
chair. 

Mrs.  Blythe  was  the  first  to  recover  her  com- 
posure. 

"  You  must  not  be  surprised  by  any  bit  of 


146     FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

folly  or  impertinence  from  this  bird  of  mine,  Mr. 
Walford.  He  speaks  'an  infinite  deal  of  no- 
thing.' " 

"  Does  he  ever  say  anything  of  his  own,  Cousin 
Anne,  or  does  he  only  repeat  what  he  hears  *?  " 

Anne  did  not  find  it  convenient  to  answer. 

"  I  trust,  Eunice,"  she  said,  "  that  you  have 
come  to  say  that  you  will  sing  at  the  musicale 
to-morrow  evening." 

"  Yes ;  that  is,  if  you  will  be  contented  with 
that  'Ave  Maria.'  You  know,  I  don't  sing 
secular  songs." 

"  So  you  told  me,"  Anne  assented  nonchalantly. 

As  he  watched  the  warmth  of  Miss  Yates's 
manner  and  the  chill  of  Mrs.  Blythe's,  Walford 
felt  a  bewilderment  stealing  over  him  like  the 
fog  which  rises  where  the  Gulf  Stream  meets  the 
Labrador  Current. 

"No,"  Eunice  continued,  with  dreamy  eyes 
fixed  on  the  distant  hills.  "For  others  of  course 
it  may  be  right;  but  for  me,  my  singing  is  only 
a  way  of  speaking  to  the  heart,  so  I  would  have 
it  speak  of  the  highest  things,  and  of  those  alone." 

She  turned  and  smiled  softly  at  Walford,  who 
looked  at  her  with  a  quick  little  nod  of  assent. 

"A  beautiful  nature  !  "  thought  he,  and  noticed 
with  a  painful  contraction  of  his  heart  the  indif- 
ferent shrug  with  which  Mrs.  Blythe  greeted  the 


UP  AT   THE   VILLA  147 

remark.  Had  she  grown  so  hardened  that  she 
ceased  to  respond  to  noble  words  like  these  *? 
He  could  not  bear  to  think  it,  and  yet  he  told 
himself  that  he  was  prepared  for  anything.  His 
mind  had  traveled  over  a  long  road  in  these  past 
ten  months.  The  windings  had  been  devious 
and  the  guidance  uncertain.  The  thought  of 
Anne's  guilt,  which  had  cut  him  to  the  soul  at 
first,  had  grown  familiar.  He  had  not  lived  so 
long  in  the  metropolitan  world  without  realizing 
how  frequent  such  things  were.  It  had  long  ago 
ceased  to  seem  impossible ;  it  was  rapidly  ceasing 
to  seem  improbable ;  and  yet  he  had  not  stood 
in  Anne's  presence  five  minutes  before  he  felt 
the  return  of  her  old  empire  over  him,  and  he 
was  consumed  with  a  wild  desire  to  confront  her 
with  the  letter,  to  demand  the  truth,  to  know  the 
worst  or  the  best  at  once. 

Even  now  his  pulses  thrilled  as  he  heard  his 
name  spoken  by  her  voice.  So  quickly  did  his 
heart  beat  that  he  scarcely  caught  the  substance 
of  her  words ;  but  at  last  he  gathered  that  she 
was  telling  him  of  the  musicale.  It  was  to  be 
the  next  afternoon — very  informal;  but  one  or 
two  artists  had  promised  their  services,  and  Miss 
Yates  was  to  be  the  star. 

"  Miss  Yates  sings  very  well,  I  assure  you.  I 
hope  you  will  come  to  hear  her." 


148    FOUR  ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

Walford  bowed  his  thanks  and  assent.  In  a 
pause  he  turned  to  the  Bishop,  who  had  been 
studying  the  young  clergyman  as  closely  as 
Walford  had  regarded  the  two  women. 

"  I  don't  think,  Bishop  Alston,"  said  Walford, 
"that  I  quite  understand  what  you  were  saying 
just  now  about  the  Church  attracting  rather  than 
compelling." 

"  Ah,"  thought  the  Bishop,  "  he  is  afraid  that  I 
am  going  to  ask  him  about  himself.  He  need 
not  fear.  I  shall  learn  all  that  I  need  to  know 
and  more  without  the  brutality  of  the  direct 
question."  Aloud  he  said  : 

"There  are  two  views  of  the  Church  —  the 
sacramental  and  the  institutional.  In  common 
with  many  broad-churchmen,  I  incline  to  the 
latter  view.  To  my  mind,  the  Church  of  Eng- 
land is  the  best  religious  machine  in  the  world. 
Her  task  is  harder,  in  some  respects,  than  that  of  the 
Roman  Church,  for  she  deals  with  men  who  can  cut 
the  connection  at  will,  and  yet  she  keeps  her  hold 
on  them  generation  after  generation.  And  how  ?  " 

"  By  offering  to  take  their  religious  thinking 
off  their  hands,"  said  Anne,  whereat  Walford 
decided  that  she  was  flippant,  and  of  a  flippant 
woman  what  might  not  be  true?  His  vague 
suspicions  returned  in  full  force. 

The  Bishop  received  the  remark  calmly. 


UP  AT   THE   VILLA  149 

"Not  altogether  that,"  he  answered  mildly. 
"  The  people  in  any  sect  who  really  think  must 
always  be  numerically  insignificant ;  but  there  is 
nothing  of  which  men  are  so  jealous  as  of  their 
right  to  think  if  they  should  ever  take  a  fancy  to 
do  so.  Now  the  Church  is  strong  just  here  in 
her  combined  firmness  and  elasticity.  For  her 
thinkers  she  has  her  reserves  in  store,  the  best 
and  wisest  of  all  her  provisions,  the  right  of  pri- 
vate interpretation.  Of  course  we  got  it  from 
the  Jesuits,  and  they,  for  all  I  know,  from  the 
Roman  augurs,  and  they  from  the  Egyptian 
priests.  Be  this  as  it  may,  the  device  works  to 
perfection.  If  the  Westminster  Catechism  were 
ours  it  would  give  us  no  trouble.  The  catechism 
asks :  '  What  is  the  chief  end  of  man  ?  '  The 
old  theologian  would  answer:  'To  glorify  God 
and  enjoy  him  forever.'  The  modern  rationalist 
would  translate  this :  '  To  glorify  Good  and  enjoy 
it  as  long  as  I  live.'  Then  they  would  go  on 
comfortably  together." 

"  But  does  not  this  private  interpretation  en- 
courage doubt  ?  "  ventured  Walford,  who  had 
observed  a  respectful  but  dissenting  silence. 

"  Very  likely ;  but  the  people  who  as  believers 
have  no  doubt  in  their  minds,  as  skeptics  would 
have  no  mind  in  their  doubts.  They  are  the 
least  valuable  part  of  the  community." 


150    FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

"  *  Faith  is  a  passionate  intuition,'  "  said  Eunice 
Yates,  rising  as  if  she  were  pronouncing  a  bene- 
diction. The  others  rose  too. 

There  was  a  moment's  pause.  Eunice  broke 
it,  saying:  "I  had  a  letter  from  Tom  at  Monte 
Carlo  this  morning.  He  arrives  to-night." 

Walford  looked  at  Anne ;  but  her  manner  of 
receiving  the  news  told  him  nothing. 

"  Tom  is  enjoying  Monte  Carlo,  and  he  detests 
Florence ;  but  he  is  coming  merely  to  be  with  us." 

"  He  is  a  devoted  brother,"  volunteered  Anne, 
amiably. 

"  He  is  a  devoted  everything"  Miss  Yates  re- 
plied inscrutably,  and  then  turned  to  walk  toward 
the  gate  with  the  Bishop. 

Walford  remained  standing  with  Anne,  who 
followed  her  cousin  with  a  "  Till  to-morrow 
evening,  then,  Eunice,  and  I  will  send  the  car- 
riage." 

The  young  clergyman  gripped  his  hat  tightly, 
as  was  his  habit  when  embarrassed. 

"Mrs.  Blythe,"  he  said  at  last,  "I  stopped 
in  Florence  and  came  here  to-day  to  see  you  on 
a  special  errand." 

The  color  flashed  up  to  Anne's  brow  and  re- 
treated. Her  eyelids  fell  till  their  lashes  lay  long 
and  shadowy  on  her  crimson  cheek.  "  Yes  ?  " 
was  all  she  said. 


UP   AT   THE   VILLA  151 

"  I  promised  to  place  a  certain  letter  in  your 
hands  —  a  letter  which  I  did  not  dare  to  trust  to 
the  vagrant  Continental  mails.  I  have  it  here." 
And  thrusting  his  hand  into  his  breast-pocket,  he 
handed  Anne  an  envelope  addressed  in  his  own 
writing. 

"  A  letter !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Blythe,  opening 
the  wide  astonishment  of  her  glance  full  upon 
him.  "  How  mysterious !  And  do  you  happen 
to  know  its  contents  ?  " 

If  a  bomb  had  exploded  under  Walford's  feet 
he  could  hardly  have  been  more  confounded. 
Up  to  this  time  he  had  pictured  Mrs.  Blythe  in 
almost  every  attitude  :  confessing  her  guilt,  beg- 
ging for  his  sympathy,  or  flaming  into  indigna- 
tion at  the  calumny;  but  this  smiling,  casual 
question  suddenly  changed  all  roles.  How  was 
it  that  he  had  never  thought  of  this4? 

"Why  — I— I  —  that  is,  Mrs.  Blythe,  I 
cannot  explain  now  "  (seeing  the  Bishop  coming 
toward  them  after  escorting  Miss  Yates  to  the 
gate).  "  But  would  you  be  good  enough  to  give 
me  back  the  letter  till  I  find  a  chance  to  explain*?  " 

"  Give  you  back  my  mysterious  letter  ?  Oh, 
impossible !  How  high  you  rate  a  woman's  self- 
control,  or  how  low  her  curiosity !  I  '11  tell  you : 
I  will  read  the  letter  first  and  hear  your  explanation 
afterward.  You  say  you  have  read  it  already  *?  " 


152     FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

A  man  with  less  principle  would  have  lied ;  a 
man  with  more  experience  would  have  evaded. 
Walford  could  do  neither.  He  strove  to  plunge 
into  the  depths  of  self-exculpation,  only  to  be 
caught  in  the  eel-grass  of  self-consciousness. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mrs.  Blythe  — "  he  began. 

But  at  this  critical  moment  the  Bishop  rejoined 
them,  and  Walford  was  obliged  to  take  his  leave 
without  even  an  appointment  for  an  interview. 

As  the  iron  gate  closed  behind  him  Mrs. 
Blythe  rose  from  her  chair  and  walked  to  the 
balustrade,  which  ran  the  length  of  the  terrace. 
She  leaned  upon  its  broad  top.  Her  gaze  swept 
the  hillside,  with  the  valley  at  its  foot  and  the 
narrow  pathway  which  wound  precipitously  from 
highway  to  highway,  cutting  off  half  the  distance 
for  the  pedestrian. 

"  Yes,"  Anne  said  at  last,  "  I  thought  so." 

The  cause  of  this  remark  was  the  sight  of  a 
slender  figure  in  gray,  seated  on  a  slab  of  old 
yellow  marble  placed  close  to  the  path  for  the 
benefit  of  wayfarers,  in  a  clearing  which  gave  a 
wide  view  of  hill  and  valley.  The  gray  gown, 
as  Anne  instantly  noted,  belonged  to  Eunice 
Yates,  who  with  raised  arm  and  extended  finger 
was  pointing  out  the  beauty  of  the  landscape  to 
the  stolid  Italian  maid  at  her  elbow. 

In  a  few  minutes  another  figure,  tall  and  black- 


UP   AT   THE   VILLA  153 

coated,  wound  its  way  through  the  trees  and 
reached  the  bench.  Then  the  gray  figure  rose, 
and  the  three  went  on  down  the  hill  together. 

"  Cleverly  done,  my  lady  !  "  exclaimed  Anne, 
half  aloud.  With  a  not  wholly  genial  smile,  she 
turned  and  began  to  pace  the  terrace  back  and 
forth,  striking  her  lips  softly  with  the  envelope 
which  she  held  in  her  fingers. 


X 


IN    WHICH    WALFORD    LEARNS 

"  Our  faults  no  tenderness  should  ask, 

The  chastening  stripes  must  cleanse  them  all ; 
But  for  our  blunders, —  oh,  in  shame 
Before  the  eyes  of  Heaven  we  fall !  " 

^  I  ^HE  architect  of  the  Villa  Piacevole  had 
JL  built  it  of  white  stucco,  with  a  loggia  and 
a  vine-covered  pergola.  A  terrace  bounded  by 
a  marble  balustrade  lay  in  front.  Its  steps  led 
down  to  the  garden,  which  was  Mrs.  Blythe's 
particular  pride,  and  laid  out,  as  befitted  an 
Italian  garden,  in  delightful  stiff  little  walks 
hedged  with  box,  and  leading  nowhere.  In  one 
corner  a  Roman  amphora  leaned  forgotten  against 
the  vine-grown  wall.  At  the  head  of  the  garden, 
beneath  a  clump  of  ilex-trees,  stood  a  stone  bench 
fashioned  after  one  in  the  Boboli  Gardens.  It 
had  no  back  and  was  far  from  comfortable,  yet 
Anne  had  a  strange  fancy  for  it,  and  sat  there 
dreaming  away  long  hours  in  the  still  spring 


IN  WHICH  WALFORD  LEARNS    155 

afternoons,  breathing  in  the  fragrance  of  the 
plum-trees,  and  watching  the  faint  silvery  green 
of  the  olive  slopes. 

But  the  thing  which  most  often  attracted  her 
eye  was  a  sun-dial  of  yellow  marble,  brought 
from  the  ruins  of  an  old  Mantuan  villa,  and  set 
up  afresh  here  in  Fiesole.  Around  the  dial-plate 
was  carved  a  ring  of  cupids,  and  twisting  in 
among  them  ran  a  line  from  Dante : 

"  L'  amor  die  muove  il  sol  e  1*  altre  stelle." 

Anne  looked  at  it  so  often  that  at  last  it  sang 
itself  in  her  memory,  and  she  liked  the  dial  the 
better  for  the  inscription's  sake.  Yet  she  did  not 
wholly  accept  its  burden,  and  sometimes  won- 
dered as  she  looked :  "  After  all,  does  love  move 
the  sun  and  stars  or  even  this  earth  of  ours  *?  " 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  musicale,  Walford 
walked  up  the  hill  leading  to  Mrs.  Blythe's  villa, 
past  gray  walls  hung  with  creeping  vines,  paus- 
ing every  now  and  then  to  look  at  the  scene 
behind  him,  as  if  unwilling  to  face  what  lay 
before.  The  terrace  was  alive  with  people  when 
Walford  reached  the  villa.  He  had  already 
learned  through  his  New  York  experiences  to 
avoid  the  dull  first  hour  of  a  function.  More- 
over, he  had  his  own  reasons  for  preferring  to 


156     FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

arrive  with  the  crowd.  Now  he  and  the  samovar 
presented  themselves  together  just  as  the  sun  was 
preparing  to  take  his  leave  and  making  his  bow 
over  the  shoulder  of  the  hills. 

The  candles  were  lighted  in  the  delightfully 
bare,  sophisticatedly  simple  salon,  and  their 
twinkle  contrasted  oddly  with  the  diffused  sunset 
glow  on  the  terrace.  For  a  few  moments  Wai- 
ford  stood  still,  neglecting  to  seek  his  hostess, 
and  interested  in  taking  in  the  company  as  a 
whole  before  speaking  with  those  whom  he  knew 
here  and  there. 

It  was  a  curiously  mixed  assemblage.  The 
American  Ambassador  to  St.  Petersburg,  having 
given  himself  leave  of  absence  for  a  few  weeks 
in  Rome,  now  loitering  on  his  way  back  to  his 
post,  was  talking  in  a  corner  with  Bishop  Alston; 
Lord  and  Lady  Campbell  were  explaining  the 
view  to  their  daughters,  the  Honorable  Beatrice 
and  the  Honorable  Virginia,  who  received  the 
information  with  an  upper-crustacean  languor. 
A  rich  California  woman,  recently  divorced  and 
soon  to  marry  an  Italian  count,  presided  at  the 
samovar. 

The  polyglot  conversation  carried  on  among 
some  Russian  and  Roman  artists  floated  about 
Walford's  ears,  now  blending  with,  now  rising 
above,  the  strains  of  the  Brahms  Hungarian 


IN  WHICH  WALFORD  LEARNS    157 

dances  played  by  a  trio  in  the  salon.  As  Wai- 
ford  looked  and  listened,  the  scene  struck  some 
vibrating  chord  in  his  memory.  Once  more  the 
picture  in  the  Blythe  drawing-room  rose  before 
him.  He  could  see  the  little  novice  in  her  white 
veil,  the  candles  twinkling  like  those  within, 
the  crowd  of  bejeweled  bystanders,  and  the  sad 
sisterhood  waiting  to  receive  the  newcomer. 
Strangely  enough,  the  scene  seemed  to  blend 
with  the  one  before  him ;  but  in  place  of  the 
golden-haired  girl,  he  saw  himself,  his  life  about 
to  be  stripped  of  all  that  made  its  charm,  and 
sacrificed  —  yes,  he  might  as  well  call  things  by 
their  right  names  —  sacrificed  in  that  lonely 
island  of  a  distant  sea. 

He  shook  off  the  unwelcome  thought,  and 
turned  his  eyes  to  the  center  of  the  terrace, 
where  Mrs.  Blythe  stood.  Tom  Yates  hovered 
beside  her,  and  awaited  his  chance  to  secure  her 
attention.  Anne  was  at  her  best.  Her  color 
was  high,  her  eyes  bright,  her  voice  low,  but 
filled  with  a  ripple  of  laughter. 

Walford  had  his  own  reasons  for  not  joining 
the  group  around  Mrs.  Blythe  too  hastily.  Had 
she  read  the  letter  ?  If  so,  what  were  her  emo- 
tions, and  what  were  her  feelings  toward  the 
man  who  had  read  it  also  ?  He  was  sure  that  her 
manner  would  tell  him  something.  He  felt  that 


158      FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

he  would  rather  not  receive  the  information  in 
public.  So  he  simply  stood  still  and  watched 
her;  yet  her  spell  lay  on  him  more  heavily  than 
on  any  man  in  the  group  about  her.  A  know- 
ledge of  soul-secrets  tells  both  ways. 

Walford  studied  Yates  closely,  but  learned 
little  from  the  scrutiny.  His  manner  was  de- 
voted, certainly,  but  not  beyond  that  of  the 
other  men,  and  there  was  no  suggestion  of  mutual 
understanding.  Still  —  here  Walford's  wander- 
ing gaze  rested  on  the  familiar  figure  of  a  man 
lounging  in  the  doorway,  playing  with  his  eye- 
glasses, and  regarding  the  company  with  critical 
aloofness  through  lazy  eyelids.  It  was  Blair 
Fleming,  as  Walford  saw  at  a  glance,  and  beside 
him  stood  a  half-grown  lad  listening  with  eager- 
ness to  the  melancholy,  delirious  music.  "  Oh," 
Walford  said  to  himself,  "  I  remember  now  to 
have  heard  that  Fleming  was  spending  the  win- 
ter in  Rome  on  account  of  Newton's  invalid  son." 
Here  he  caught  Fleming's  eye,  and  crossed  the 
terrace,  bowing  in  passing  to  his  hostess,  but 
scarcely  pausing  for  more  than  the  bow  of 
greeting. 

"  Ah,  Fleming,"  Walford  exclaimed,  with  the 
genial  manner  which  had  won  a  score  of  parish- 
ioners for  St.  Simeon's,  "  this  is  a  pleasure ! 
Who  would  have  predicted,  when  we  lunched 


IN  WHICH  WALFORD  LEARNS    159 

together  at  the  Fifth  Avenue  Club  last  spring, 
that  our  next  meeting  would  be  in  Florence  ?  " 

The  touch  of  professionalism  in  Walford's 
tone  annoyed  Fleming. 

"  Who  could  *?  "  was  all  he  said  in  response. 

Fleming  was  one  of  the  few  men  who  can 
drop  a  subject  without  breaking  it.  Walford 
felt  his  effusiveness  checked.  He  was  irritated 
thereby,  and  was  impelled  to  a  remark  of  the 
unwisdom  of  which  he  was  fully  aware,  or  would 
have  been  had  he  not  been  completely  off  his 
mental  balance  as  the  result  of  a  sleepless  night, 
spent  in  wrestling  with  an  unsolvable  problem. 

"Have  you  seen  Yates  here  to-night?"  he 
asked  in  a  constrained  tone. 

"  Yes." 

"Curious  that  he  should  have  deserted  New 
York  at  the  busiest  season  of  the  year  —  a  man 
so  absorbed  in  business  as  he !  " 

"  We  have  all  done  it,  it  seems.** 

"  Then  you  have  no  suspicion  as  to  what 
brought  him  *? " 

"  If  I  felt  enough  interest  in  his  movements 
to  attempt  a  reason  for  his  coming,  I  should  say 
that  his  sister's  presence  was  reason  enough." 

"  Still,  I  suspect  he  had  another." 

"Very  likely.  Mixed  motives  are  common 
to  mankind." 


160    FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

"  I  think  he  is  in  love  with  Mrs.  Blythe." 

"  More  than  probable,"  Fleming  assented 
coolly. 

"  I  think  that  he  has  been  in  love  with  her  for 
years,"  Walford  rushed  on,  maddened  by  the 
calmness  of  the  other  man.  "  For  years,"  he  re- 
peated —  "  before  her  husband's  death ;  and  that 
she  returned  it." 

Fleming's  stare  of  blank  amazement  infuriated 
Walford  still  further.  All  night  he  had  been 
going  over  yesterday's  interview  with  Mrs. 
Blythe,  and  always  with  a  growing  sense  of 
mortification,  and  an  intolerable  consciousness 
of  wounded  vanity.  Fleming's  cool  contempt 
drove  him  mad. 

"  You  can  afford  to  hear  me  calmly,"  he  cried, 
"  for  you  have  known  it  all  along." 

Fleming  put  on  his  glasses,  tilting  his  chin 
upward  a  little  as  he  did  so,  looked  at  Walford 
for  a  moment,  and  then  said  quietly : 

"Mr.  Walford,  if  you  have  any  common 
sense  left  —  use  it !  " 

To  himself  he  wondered:  "What  can  the 
man  mean?  Does  he  realize  what  he  is  saying 
—  that  he  is  making  such  an  accusation  as  this 
against  a  woman  whose  guest  he  is,  and  to  an- 
other guest,  at  that  ?  Surely  he  was  not  such  a 
cad  a  year  ago." 


IN  WHICH  WALFORD  LEARNS    161 

Fleming,  like  the  rest  of  us,  judged  a  man  by 
results,  without  taking  the  pains  to  follow  pro- 
cesses. Could  he  have  traced  the  workings  of 
Walford's  mind  through  these  ten  troublous 
months,  he  might  have  had  more  comprehen- 
sion and  therefore  more  tolerance. 

Walford  opened  trembling  lips  to  reply ;  but 
he  was  interrupted  by  a  murmur,  "  Miss  Yates  is 
going  to  sing,"  followed  by  a  general  movement 
from  without  toward  the  doors  and  windows  of 
the  salon,  where  Eunice  Yates  sat  with  her  harp 
against  a  background  of  dark  wood. 

The  gold-framed  triptych  above  her  head  was 
matched  by  the  fillet  in  her  hair.  The  flowing 
sleeves  fell  back  and  left  her  arms  bare.  The 
square,  gold-embroidered  neck  of  her  gown  left 
her  throat  likewise  bare,  and  like  her  arms  it  was 
as  white  as  snow.  "  St.  Cecilia,"  said  some  one, 
and  then  another  said,  "  Hush !  "  as  the  white 
hands  swept  their  first  chord  and  the  pure  soprano 
voice  began  Gounod's  "Ave  Maria." 

When  the  song  was  over  Eunice  Yates  had 
won  her  place.  The  women  congratulated  Mrs. 
Blythe  on  such  a  protegee.  The  rich  Californian 
asked  if  Miss  Yates  sang  for  money,  and  the 
English  girls  wiped  their  blue  eyes  and  tried  to 
say  something  and  could  not. 

The  Bishop,  after  handing  a  cup  of  tea  to  the 


162    FOUR  ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

wife  of  the  Ambassador,  settled  himself  comfort- 
ably in  a  portly  arm-chair  and  turned  his  spec- 
tacled glance  in  the  direction  of  the  singer.  Wai- 
ford  was  talking  to  her,  leaning  his  arm  on  the 
top  of  the  harp  and  bending  over  in  an  attitude 
of  devotion.  A  smile  which  in  a  worldling 
might  have  been  called  cynical  dawned  on  the 
Bishop's  face.  "  How  much  easier  to  coddle  out 
izeal  than  to  crush  it  out ! "  he  murmured  under 
his  breath. 

Two  other  observers  were  taking  in  the  tableau 
of  St.  Cecilia.  Mrs.  Blythe  and  Fleming  stood 
side  by  side,  a  little  apart  from  the  company  on 
the  terrace.  From  their  corner  they  had  an  un- 
interrupted view  of  the  brightly  lighted  salon, 
of  which  Eunice  Yates  was  for  the  time  being 
the  central  figure.  For  some  moments  neither 
spoke.  At  last  Fleming  observed  : 

"  How  well  they  suit  each  other ! " 

"Not  in  the  least!"  answered  Mrs.  Blythe, 
with  decision. 

"  Well,  now  let  us  see,"  said  her  companion, 
with  an  air  of  judicial  calmness.  "They  are  both 
handsome  —  you  admit  that." 

"  Yes,  I  admit  that." 

"Both  have  charm — magnetism — call  it  what 
you  will." 

«  Ye— e-s." 


IN  WHICH  WALFORD  LEARNS    163 

"  You  speak  doubtfully.  You  don't,  perhaps, 
feel  Mr.  Walford's  charm." 

"  Oh,  he !  There  is  no  doubt  about  kirn,  I 
should  say.  It  is  Eunice  about  whom  I  hesi- 
tated. I  realize  her  power,  I  see  others  swayed 
by  it,  and  yet,  for  my  life,  I  cannot  help  holding 
back  and  analyzing  it,  and  in  the  end  resent- 
ing it." 

"  Curious !  "  said  Fleming.  "  That  is  precisely 
the  way  I  feel  about  Walford.  But  there  's  an- 
other point  in  common  which  will  be  sure  to  draw 
them  together.  They  both  have  such  high  aims ! " 

"You  don't  really  believe  in  Eunice's  senti- 
ments ?  " 

"  Do  you  in  Stuart  Walford's  ?  " 

Anne  looked  down,  and  began  to  pull  to 
pieces  the  rose  which  she  held  in  her  hand.  "If 
you  had  asked  me  that  question  ten  months  ago," 
she  said  at  last,  "  I  should  have  resented  it.  Then 
I  thought  Mr.  Walford  the  noblest  man  I  ever 
knew.  If  you  had  asked  it  last  week  I  should 
have  argued,  refuted,  rebelled ;  but  I  should  have 
listened.  To-night  —  I  don't  know  —  I  think," 
she  said,  flushing  suddenly  rosy  red —  "  I  think  I 
am  awfully  near  being  in  love  with  Mr.  Walford ; 
but  something  holds  me  back.  I  tell  you  all 
this  because  you  let  me  make  a  sort  of  father 
confessor  of  you  there  in  Rome." 


164    FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

Fleming  was  silent  for  several  moments.  At 
length  he  said :  "  I  am  not  surprised.  Walford 
was  sure  to  appeal  to  a  woman  like  you  —  cer- 
tainly at  first." 

"He  did — he  does.  But  I  have  learned  a 
great  deal — of  myself,  among  other  things — in 
these  ten  months,  and  —  and  I  don't  take  people 
so  much  at  their  face  value.  Sometimes  I  wish 
I  did.  When  Mr.  Walford  wrote  me  that  he 
was  coming  to  Florence  and  coming  to  see  me,  I 
felt  —  I  can't  tell  you  just  what  I  felt;  but  it  was 
excitement,  anticipation,  and  pleased  vanity,  and 
perhaps  —  something  a  little  deeper.  I  'm  afraid 
this  is  boring  you." 

"  Assume  that  it  does  n't  bore  me,  please,  and 
go  on." 

"  Well,  before  I  had  been  with  him  half  an 
hour  I  realized  that  he  was  changed  in  some 
way.  He  was  more  polished,  and  all  that,  than 
a  year  ago ;  but  he  did  not  seem  like  the  same 
man." 

"  How  ?  " 

"  He  had  lost  the  dignity  of  simplicity  with- 
out attaining  the  distinction  of  a  man  of  the 
world.  He  was  more  self-conscious,  bent  on 
making  a  good  impression  on  my  uncle  and  let- 
ting him  know  what  a  success  he  was  making; 
but,  besides  that,  he  seemed  to  have  lost  his 


IN  WHICH  WALFORD   LEARNS    165 

frankness,  to  be  keeping  something  back,  and 
the  old  expression  was  gone  from  his  eyes  when 
he  looked  at  me.  Somehow,  distrust  seemed  to 
have  taken  the  place  of  the  old  friendliness  and 
sympathy." 

Fleming  remembered  Walford's  words  of  a 
few  minutes  ago,  and  felt  that  he  might,  if  he 
would,  shed  a  flood  of  light  on  his  behavior  to 
Mrs.  Blythe.  He  only  smiled,  however,  and 
said : 

"  Perhaps  the  old  feeling  was  not  merely 
friendliness,  and  that  is  what  's  the  matter." 

"  I  have  thought  of  that,"  said  Anne,  simply, 
"  and  I  think,  in  a  way,  it  is  true  ;  but  it  does  n't 
account  for  his  manner." 

Fleming  let  a  long  pause  fall.  Then  he  said 
calmly : 

"  If  I  were  you,  I  would  let  Eunice  Yates 
have  him." 

"  But  I  want  him  for  my  salon.  He  's  such 
good  material." 

"  Would  his  devotion  to  Miss  Yates  interfere 
with  that?" 

"Oh,  yes;  he  would  n't  care  to  come  if  he 
were  n't  a  little — well,  a  little  interested." 

"  Then  I  am  to  understand  that  the  salon  is  to 
be  made  up  exclusively  of  people  who  are  *a 
little  interested.'" 


1 66    FOUR  ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

"No,  not  exactly,  because  then  we  should 
miss  you,  and  you  count  for  something." 

"  Yes,  that  would  certainly  shut  me  out,"  said 
Fleming,  with  a  smile  that  dislodged  his  glasses. 
He  readjusted  them  with  two  fingers. 

"No,  Eunice  cannot  have  him,"  said  Anne, 
returning  to  the  charge ;  "  at  least,  not  yet.  He 
may  not  be  all  that  my  fancy  painted  him,  but 
he  's  much  too  good  for  her." 

"  Fleming,  judge,  dissenting,"  commented  her 
companion,  stepping  back  as  Lady  Campbell 
came  up  to  speak  her  adieus  to  her  hostess. 

"  Yes,  my  dear,"  said  Lady  Campbell,  "  we 
are  off  in  a  fortnight.  I  shall  be  quite  too  awfully 
sorry  to  say  good-by  to  you ;  but  remember  you 
are  to  give  us  a  week  at  the  Hall  in  the  autumn. 
I  shall  ask  the  jolliest  people  we  know  to  meet 
you." 

Anne  murmured  some  response  and  walked 
toward  the  steps  with  her  guest,  leaving  Fleming 
alone.  He  turned  his  back  to  the  company,  and 
strolled  to  the  edge  of  the  terrace.  Fixing  his 
gaze  on  the  bulk  of  the  Duomo,  he  began  a  very 
plain  talk  with  himself. 

"Sir  Jackass, —  whose  other  name  is  Blair 
Fleming, —  it  is  not  your  fault  that  you  belong 
to  the  ancient  and  honorable  order  of  Donkeys. 
That  you  can't  help ;  but  it  is  still  in  your  power 


IN  WHICH  WALFORD   LEARNS    167 

to  be  an  honest  donkey,  and  not  to  commit  an 
act  which  would  cause  you  to  hang  your  head 
and  bray  with  shame  for  the  rest  of  your  life. 
Ask  her  to  marry  you  ?  Asinine  is  no  word  for 
it.  *  My  dear  Mrs.  Blythe,  would  n't  you  like 
to  give  up  several  millions  of  dollars,  a  house  on 
the  Avenue,  and  what  your  poor  little  imagina- 
tion conjures  up  as  social  celebrity,  for  obscurity 
and  a  side  street  with  a  man  of  forty  who  has 
neither  achieved  greatness  nor  had  it  thrust  upon 
him  ? '  Sounds  well,  does  n't  it  ?  Bah  ! "  And 
Anne,  would  she  not  think  —  had  she  not  per- 
haps already  thought — that  in  the  first  interview 
after  Mr.  Blythe's  death,  when  he  advised  her  to 
come  to  some  sort  of  compromise  with  the 
Yateses,  he  had  thoughts  of  entering  the  lists 
himself;  that  there  was  greed  underlying  his 
counsel  ?  Oh,  humiliating,  degrading,  disgust- 
ing !  That  way  madness  lay.  And  yet  to  let  her 
marry  Walford  without  an  effort  to  prevent  it! 

He  strode  hastily  across  the  terrace  toward 
young  Newton,  who  sat  crouched  in  a  corner 
of  the  salon,  oblivious  of  his  surroundings. 
"George,"  he  said,  "  it  is  time  for  you  and  me  to 
be  leaving.  Come  along  and  say  good  evening 
to  Mrs.  Blythe." 

"  Not  quite  yet,  please.  Could  n't  we  wait  just 
ten  minutes  ?  Perhaps  she  will  sing  again." 


i68    FOUR  ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

'•'  *  She '  being  Miss  Yates,  I  suppose." 

"  Of  course." 

Fleming  good-naturedly  assented,  and  stood 
over  the  boy,  leaning  against  the  wall. 

"  Mr.  Fleming  — " 

"  Yes,  George." 

"Do  you  think  she  would  let  me  thank 
her?" 

"  I  advise  you  to  risk  it.  I  Ve  known  a  good 
many  artists,  and  I  never  saw  one  become  vio- 
lently indignant  at  a  respectful  expression  of 
admiration,  or  'appreciation,'  as  they  call  it. 
Come  over,  if  you  like,  and  I  '11  present  you 
now.  Miss  Yates,  here  is  a  young  man  who 
wishes  to  thank  you  for  past  favors,  and  is  trying 
to  screw  up  courage  to  ask  for  more." 

George  stood  by  with  blushing  ears,  looking 
like  a  tortured  sheep,  till  a  sibylline  smile  from 
Eunice  put  him  sweetly  at  his  ease. 

"  You  sing  perhaps  yourself?  "  she  asked. 

"No;  oh,  no!  I  only  scrape  a  little  on  the 
violin." 

"  Ah,  that  is  better !  A  violin  does  perfectly 
and  steadily  what  the  voice  does  only  imper- 
fectly and  uncertainly.  A  violin  may  take  cold 
and  grow  hoarse ;  but  it  never  breaks  down  from 
excess  of  feeling.  I  am  afraid  I  could  not  sing 
again  to-night;  I  have  felt  too  much." 


IN  WHICH  WALFORD  LEARNS    169 

George  was  in  an  agony  at  the  thought  of 
having  forced  so  intimate  a  confession  from  such 
a  being,  but  Fleming  took  the  situation  quite 
composedly. 

"  It  seems  audacious,  after  you  say  that,  to 
urge  you  further,  and  yet  I  am  impelled  by  the 
prospect  of  being  kept  awake  by  the  plaints  of 
this  young  cormorant.  Is  n't  there  something  in 
your  music-roll  which  makes  less  demand  on  the 
voice  and  on  the  emotions  than  the  'Ave  Maria' V  " 

"  Since  you  wish  it,  Mr.  Fleming,"  Miss  Yates 
answered,  with  a  delicate  emphasis  on  the  pro- 
noun, "  I  will  try.  Yes,  my  music-roll  is  in  the 
corner.  Perhaps  Mr.  Newton  will  bring  it." 

Eunice's  voice  flattered.  It  made  her  words 
of  secondary  importance. 

George  was  in  the  seventh  heaven  of  delight, 
and  further  transported  by  the  look  with  which 
Miss  Yates  received  the  music-roll.  He  felt 
himself  not  only  drawn  within  the  circle  of  a 
beautiful  woman's  intimacy,  but  made  one  of  the 
glorious  company  of  musicians,  the  preeminent 
society  of  the  world. 

Miss  Yates  left  her  harp  and  stood  by  the 
piano.  The  accompanist  glanced  over  the  music 
and  struck  a  few  chords.  Then  Eunice  began  : 

"  Angels,  ever  bright  and  fair, 
Take,  oh,  take  me  to  your  care!" 


170    FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

With  the  first  notes  the  leave-taking  crowd 
halted,  turned,  and  trooped  back  to  doors  and 
windows.  The  rendering  was  not  as  finished  as 
in  the  "  Ave,"  but  there  was  a  vibrant  sweetness, 
a  simplicity,  which  touched  the  heart  more. 
George  Newton  half  expected  that  her  white- 
robed  sisters  would  come  at  her  call,  to  bear  her 
out  of  his  sight  forever,  and  even  Fleming  caught 
his  breath  and  wondered  if  Anne  might  not  be  a 
little  prejudiced. 

When  the  song  ended,  George  gave  a  long, 
gasping  sigh,  as  if  he  were  coming  to  life  out  of 
some  ecstatic  trance. 

"  Come,  my  boy,"  said  Fleming's  voice  in  his 
ears ;  "  you  have  heard  enough  now  to  dream  of 
o'  nights  for  a  month.  We  must  be  going." 

The  lad  assented,  nothing  loath.  What  was 
there  worth  staying  for  longer  ? 

So  Fleming  and  his  charge  slipped  out  with 
the  departing  throng,  which  lessened  rapidly  till 
all  were  gone  except  Eunice  Yates,  slowly  don- 
ning her  wraps  in  the  dressing-room ;  her  brother, 
explaining  the  merits  of  his  new  touring-car  to 
the  Bishop  on  the  terrace ;  and  Walford,  who 
hesitated  in  the  doorway. 

"  What  a  supreme  actress  that  woman  is!  "  he 
thought  as  he  caught  the  brilliant  smile  with 
which  Mrs.  Blythe  sped  the  last  of  her  departing 


IN  WHICH  WALFORD  LEARNS    171 

guests.  To  have  just  learned  that  her  secret  was 
discovered,  that  it  was  in  the  possession  of  one 
of  the  men  about  her,  and  yet  to  bear  herself 
with  this  gay  nonchalance  —  it  was  incredible. 
And  yet,  suppose  her  innocent*?  Then,  to  throw 
off  the  accusation  so,  as  a  mere  nothing,  argued 
a  levity  worse  than  guilt.  No,  however  he  looked 
at  it,  Anne  was  hopelessly .  lost  to  his  esteem. 
But  there  still  remained  a  problem  of  some  in- 
terest, and  that  was  how  did  be  stand  in  her 
esteem  ?  The  moment  for  the  test  had  come, 
and  he  determined  to  learn  whether  she  had  for- 
given him  —  whether  she  ever  would  forgive  his 
stripping  off  her  mask. 

Slowly  he  drew  near  to  where  she  stood  under 
the  full  blaze  of  the  Venetian  chandelier.  She 
was  superb  to-night.  He  almost  wished  that  he 
had  put  off  the  tragic  moment ;  but  it  was  too 
late  now  for  regrets.  Mrs.  Blythe  had  caught 
sight  of  him,  and  as  he  approached  she  drew 
from  the  folds  of  her  dress  the  letter  which  he 
had  given  her  the  day  before. 

"  See  !  "  she  exclaimed,  as  she  held  it  up  gaily. 
"  Honor  and  a  sense  of  gratitude  have  held  out 
so  far;  but  curiosity  is  storming  the  citadel.  I 
have  not  opened  the  letter  yet;  but  if  you  have 
explanations  to  offer,  prepare  to  shed  them  now." 

Walford  was  still  smarting  under  the  contempt 


172     FOUR  ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

in  Fleming's  voice,  and  he  was  aware  of  a  strange 
contradictory  feeling  that  he  could  almost  wish 
to  see  this  woman  before  him  humiliated.  Her 
confession  would  be  his  justification.  He  had 
thought  about  this  thing  till  his  mind  was  warped 
and  he  could  see  nothing  straight.  Besides,  what 
real  explanations  had  he  to  offer  for  having  read 
the  letter  *?  Perhaps  the  best  excuse  would  have 
been  to  tell  her  that  he  loved  her  and  had  been 
driven  half  mad  with  jealousy  at  the  words  on 
which  his  eyes  had  fallen.  But  he  could  not  go 
into  all  this  here  and  now ;  and  even  if  he  could, 
it  looked  like  a  poor  shelter. 

"  Go  on  ! "  he  said  with  dry  lips  which  failed 
pitifully  in  their  effort  at  a  smile.  "  Never  mind 
the  explanation !  After  all,  it  is  of  no  conse- 
quence. Read  the  letter !  I  had  it  from  a  dying 
woman,  and  one  may  look  for  truth  there ! " 

Anne  felt  her  heart  beat  heavily.  Something 
in  Walford's  voice  told  her  that  this  was  no  jest- 
ing matter,  and  yet  she  could  not  step  so  easily 
from  the  social  surface  gaiety  to  the  tragedy  of 
real  life.  With  the  smile  still  on  her  lips,  she 
opened  the  envelope  addressed  to  her  in  Wai- 
ford's  handwriting  and  unfolded  the  sheet. 

"  From  Dick ! "  she  exclaimed.  Her  hand 
trembled;  her  cheeks  paled.  Breathlessly  she 
read  on  to  the  foot  of  the  page,  then  turned  the 


J»O1  '  THLNUEKEU  YATES     BKl.NOl.NG  HIS  HAND  DOWN  liAHU." 


IN  WHICH  WALFORD  LEARNS    175 

leaf,  and  never  faltered  till  the  close.  At  the  end 
she  looked  up,  and  her  eyes  met  those  of  Tom 
Yates,  who  chanced  to  be  entering  at  the  door. 

"  Read  that ! "  she  said.  '*  It  is  from  my  hus- 
band to  his  mistress." 

Yates  took  the  letter  in  some  bewilderment. 
His  face  darkened  as  he  read,  and  his  lips  moved, 
but  uttered  no  word.  Anne's  eyes  never  left  his 
face.  When  he  had  finished,  she  said  simply: 

"  Was  it  true  ?    Did  you  care  for  me,  then  ?  " 

"  I  did,  Anne.     I  could /i't  help  it." 

"  And  did  you  ever  say  or  do  anything  which 
could  have  led  me  to  suspect  how  you  felt  ?  " 

"  Before  God,  no  I "  thundered  Yates,  bringing 
his  hand  down  hard  on  the  edge  of  the  malachite 
table. 

Anne  extended  her  hand. 

"Very  well,  Tom. — Is  that  all  that  you  wish 
to  know,  Mr.  Walford  ?  " 

Mrs.  Blythc  swept  a  courtesy  of  dismissal  to 
Walford,  who  stood  silent  and  dazed  for  an  in- 
stant, then  bowed  low  enough  to  hide  the  mor- 
tified crimson  of  his  cheeks.  As  he  withdrew  he 
saw  her  take  Yates's  hand  in  both  hers  and  heard 
her  say : 

"  Thank  you,  Tom.  Thank  you  for  not  tell- 
ing me  — and  thank  you  for  caring! " 


XI 

FINE    ARTS 
"  He  feedeth  on  ashes  :  a  deceived  heart  hath  turned  him  aside." 

IT  is  a  long  distance  from  the  Fiesole  heights 
to  the  Accademia  delle  Belle  Arti;  but  to 
Tom  Yates  it  looked  only  too  short  in  prospect, 
for  Anne  Blythe  had  promised  to  traverse  it  with 
him,  and  he  was  waiting  impatiently  in  the  little 
salon  for  her  appearance.  It  was  not  strange, 
perhaps,  that  he  should  have  built  high  hopes 
upon  the  warmth  of  her  manner  to  him  on  the 
night  of  the  musicale.  It  is  hard  for  a  man  to 
realize  that  there  is  often  a  tertium  quid  to  be 
reckoned  with  in  considering  a  woman's  manner, 
and  that  that  third  something  is  her  calculation 
of  its  effect  upon  some  other  man. 

Another  thing  which  he  could  not  be  expected 
to  take  in  by  intuition  was  Mrs.  Blythe's  motive 
in  assenting  at  once  and  cordially  to  his  sugges- 
tion of  this  walk.  In  fact,  it  was  a  very  compli- 

176 


FINE  ARTS  177 

cated  motive,  and  might  have  resolved  itself  into 
several.  In  the  first  place,  she  wished  to  talk 
with  him  alone  and  uninterrupted.  In  the  second 
place,  she  wished  at  once  to  let  down  the  situ- 
ation from  the  plane  of  high  tragedy  on  which 
the  scene  of  the  musicale  had  left  it.  In  the  third 
place,  she  thought  Walford  might  still  be  in 
Florence,  and  she  wished  to  show  him  that  she 
defied  his  interpretation  of  her  conduct.  Finally, 
she  thought  that  it  would  be  endlessly  diverting 
to  see  Tom  Yates  wandering  among  the  early 
Tuscan  painters.  Poor  Tom  !  As  I  say,  he 
could  not  know  all  this,  and  so  he  sat  in  the 
salon  of  Mrs.  Blythe's  villa,  in  great  satisfaction 
with  himself  and  the  world,  awaiting  Anne's 
entrance. 

The  mina-bird  perched  in  equal  content  upon 
a  gilded  pedestal  in  the  corner  and  surveyed 
Yates,  with  his  head  cocked  on  one  side  in  droll 
imitation  of  the  way  in  which  Mrs.  Blythe  car- 
ried hers,  and  a  diabolical  acutcness  shining  in 
his  beady  black  eyes.  Every  once  in  a  while 
he  burst  into  a  hoarse  uncanny  cackle,  which 
for  some  reason  Yates  found  extremely  discon- 
certing. 

Anne  entered  the  room,  wearing  a  gown  of 
gray  corduroy,  with  a  bunch  of  jonquils  at  her 
belt,  and  gloves  of  yellow  chamois  leather.  It 


178     FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

was  the  first  touch  of  color  that  Yates  had  seen 
her  wear  since  her  husband's  death,  and  it  uncon- 
sciously raised  his  hopes;  but  the  mina-bird's 
ominous  croaking  still  lingered  in  its  exasperating 
persistence. 

"  Anne,"  Yates  remarked,  strolling  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  gilt  pedestal,  "what  would  you  say  if 
I  wrung  the  neck  of  that  black  bird  of  yours?" 

"  Say  *?  I  should  say  that  I  quite  understood 
the  feeling  which  led  you  to  the  deed, —  in  fact, 
I  have  often  experienced  a  similar  impulse  my- 
self,—  but  I  should  also  say  that  the  execution 
of  the  intent  was  injudicious.  '  Conscience '  is 
under  the  protection  of  the  infernal  powers,  and 
if  you  succeeded  in  destroying  the  mortal  part  of 
him,  his  astral  body  would  haunt  you,  and 
tendings'  of  impalpable  black-winged  things 
would  appear  in  your  room  at  midnight." 

Again  the  croaking  laugh  from  the  perch. 

Anne  and  Yates  laughed  also,  and  walked 
slowly  toward  the  door,  Mrs.  Blythe  buttoning 
her  gloves  and  Yates  carrying  her  yellow-lined 
gray  parasol. 

As  they  descended  the  hill  in  the  direction  of 
the  Porta  San  Gallo,  Tom  looked  down  with 
approval  at  Mrs.  Blythe's  low  shoes,  stout  with- 
out clumsiness,  and  loose  without  bigness.  "  I 
am  glad,  Anne,"  he  said,  "  that  you  brought  over 


FINE   ARTS  179 

enough  American  shoes  to  last.  They  don't 
know  how  to  make  them  over  here." 

"No," said  Anne,  indifferently;  "I  don't  think 
they  do." 

"  Nor  anything  else,  to  my  mind." 

"  Oh,  I  can't  go  so  far  as  that." 

Yates  rejoined  with  a  querulous  accent : 
"  What  you  find  over  here  to  fall  in  love  with, 
I  cannot  see.  There  's  the  Pitti  [Yates  pro- 
nounced it  fity\.  Don't  it  look  just  like  Sing 
Sing  prison  *?  Now  tell  me  honestly  if  it  don't 
remind  you  of  it." 

"  It  does  a  little,  perhaps,"  Anne  admitted 
candidly ;  "  but  then  I  think  our  prisons  are  the 
best  buildings  we  have." 

"  And  these  narrow  streets — do  you  like  these 
too?" 

"  Why,  Tom,  it  is  n't  the  buildings,  nor  the 
streets,  nor  the  pictures,  nor  the  music,  though  I 
do  care  for  them  all  in  a  way  that  I  don't  suppose 
I  could  make  you  understand.  It 's  all  of  them 
together,  and,  more  than  that,  it  's  the  way  of 
living.  Here,  for  hundreds  of  years,  people  have 
been  at  work  building  up  a  delightful  life  for  me 
to  live.  Now,  why  should  I  throw  away  these 
advantages  and  go  over  to  America  to  help  build 
up  the  same  kind  of  life  for  people  ten  or  fifteen 
generations  away  ?  " 


i8o    FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

"  But  it  is  so  clean  over  there." 

Anne  laughed. 

**  Yes,  it  is  clean,  and  I  like  to  be  clean. 
That  's  why  I  took  a  villa  instead  of  going  into 
one  of  the  old  palaces ;  but  when  I  have  once 
secured  a  little  circle  of  cleanliness,  with  a  bath- 
tub in  the  center,  I  don't  care  about  the  rest  of 
the  world.  In  fact,  I  like  it  a  little  dull  and 
worn.  I  grow  tired  of  the  new  brass  at  home. 
There  's  old  Tommaso's  shop,  for  instance,  in  the 
Via  Porta  Rosa.  You  have  n't  seen  it  *?  Well, 
I  '11  take  you  there  sometime,  and  show  you  brass 
that  is  brass,  all  green  in  the  creases,  like  Stilton 
cheese,  and  with  lovely  vines  and  satyrs  winding 
in  and  out  everywhere.  And,  oh,  the  little  back 
room !  That  is  best  of  all,  with  its  altar  can- 
dlesticks and  its  benitiers.  You  buy  them  be- 
fore you  think,  and  then  you  wonder  how  you  're 
going  to  get  them  home,  and  what  you  '11  do  with 
them  after  you  do.  That 's  one  of  the  delights 
of  Europe." 

"  It  's  not  that,  Anne,  you  know  it  's  not;  for 
only  the  other  day  you  told  me  that  you  hated 
things,  and  that  shopping  was  a  punishment  in- 
vented to  make  the  rich  more  miserable  than  the 
poor." 

Anne  laughed  a  second  time. 

"What  is  it,  then,  that  makes  me  love  Eu- 


FINE  ARTS  181 

rope  ?  You  tell,  since  you  seem  to  understand 
my  sensations  better  than  I  do." 

"  It  's  the  people." 

"  Perhaps  it  is.  I  had  n't  thought  of  that. 
Look  there ! " 

Tom  turned  and  saw  a  pretty  child,  with  eyes 
as  black  as  sloes,  and  braids  to  match,  dancing 
on  the  pavement,  the  yellow  shawl  knotted  about 
her  waist  showing  bright  against  the  green  of  her 
short  skirt.  As  she  caught  sight  of  them  stand- 
ing and  gazing,  she  threw  redoubled  energy  into 
her  dance  and  shouted,  "  Buon  giorno  I "  as  she 
waved  her  hand  toward  them. 

"  Yes,"  said  Anne,  "  I  believe  it  is  the  people." 

"  I  'm  blessed  if  I  can  sec  why.  I  looked 
round  at  your  musicale,  and  thought  how  badly 
dressed  all  the  women  were." 

"  Very  likely.  They  don't  have  to  make  their 
position  by  their  dress,  as  we  do.  But  the 
men  —  you  must  admit  that  they  have  more 
distinction  than  those  you  'd  meet  at  a  tea  at 
home." 

"  I  don't  know;  I  did  n't  notice  the  men  par- 
ticularly. Anne,  have  you  given  me  a  thought 
since  you  've  been  over  here  *?  " 

"  Yes,  indeed,  Tom ;  I  've  given  you  two  this 
very  morning." 

"  And  am  I  to  hear  what  they  were  ?  " 


182      FOUR   ROADS   TO    PARADISE 

"  You  may,  if  you  wish,  though  I  am  afraid 
you  won't  care  for  them." 

"  Tell  me,  anyway." 

"  Very  well.  First,  then,  you  were  drinking 
last  night." 

"Now,  how  in  thunder  do  you  know  that*?" 

"Not  by  any  Sherlock  Holmes  intuition,  I 
assure  you.  I  simply  heard  you  asking  my  but- 
ler if  there  were  any  bottled  soda  in  the  house. 
Bottle/  soda  in  the  morning  means  a  good  deal, 
as  I  learned  to  my  sorrow  in  those  years  with 
Dick." 

"Was  the  other  thought  equally  pleasant?" 

"  No,  not  quite." 

"  Then  in  Heaven's  name  tell  it  and  have  it 


over!" 


"Shall  I  really?" 

"  Go  on." 

"  You  have  been  playing  heavily  at  Monte 
Carlo,  and  lost — " 

"Anne,  I  ivill  wring  the  neck  of  that  black 
bird  of  yours.  You  send  him  out  at  night  to 
prowl  about  and  bring  you  back  bad  news  of 
your  neighbors.  You  know  you  do." 

"  I  had  n't  thought  of  that  before.  It  would  n't 
be  a  bad  plan.  Thank  you  for  suggesting  it.  In 
this  case,  however,  I  did  not  need  Conscience's 
services.  Your  letter  to  Eunice  told  us  that  you 


FINE  ARTS  183 

were  at  Monte  Carlo.  I  knew  that  you  did  not 
go  there  without  playing,  nor  play  without  plung- 
ing. As  for  losing,  you  would  never  have  come 
away  so  soon  if  you  had  not  lost." 

"  Yes,  I  would  —  to  see  you,  Anne." 

"  No,  no ;  my  society  would  keep,  and  a  run 
of  luck  would  n't." 

"  You  're  awfully  hard  on  a  man.  I  'm  not 
such  a  bad  fellow,  though  of  course  I  'm  not 
good,  like  you  and  Eunice." 

"  Don't  bracket  us  together  like  that,  please ; 
I  'm  not  good  like  Eunice,  either." 

**  You  don't  care  for  Eunice,  do  you  ?  " 

"  Not  particularly." 

"  She  does  for  you,  though." 

"  Indeed ! " 

"Yes,  she  says  she  loves  you,  though  you  are 
selfish  and  frivolous,  and  she  prays  for  you  every 
night." 

"Does  she?  Well,  I  wish  she  would  n'L 
She  '11  just  prejudice  God  against  me,  with  her 
little  insinuations  and  her  damaging  petitions. 
But  never  mind  Eunice  now.  The  reason  I 
spoke  about  Monte  Carlo  was  to  ask  if  I  could  n't 
lend  you  some  money.  I  'd  love  to  do  it." 

"  Now  your  imagination  has  run  away  with 
you,  as  it  does  with  every  clever  woman  in  the 
end.  Why,  it  was  only  a  matter  of  a  few  thou- 


184     FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

sand.  It  was  n't  the  money  at  all  that  troubled 
me ;  but  I  'm  not  accustomed  to  lose,  and  I  don't 
like  it" 

"  I  have  known  that  for  a  long  time.  You  are 
an  ambitious  man." 

"  I  don't  know.  I  have  only  two  ambitions  in 
the  world  —  to  make  money  and  to  marry  you." 

"  But  if  you  married  me  you  would  not  need 
to  make  money." 

"  Oh,  that  is  a  woman's  way  of  looking  at  it. 
Your  fortune  would  only  be  a  beginning.  In 
five  years  I  would  double  it;  in  ten  years  you 
would  be  the  richest  woman  in  America." 

"  In  the  first  place,  I  doubt  whether  you  could; 
in  the  second  place,  I  should  not  care  if  you  did. 
It  would  not  interest  me  in  the  least  to  be  ticketed 
as  the  richest  woman  in  America,  any  more  than 
the  tallest  woman,  or  the  woman  with  the  longest 
hair.  I  don't  care  for  money  in  itself.  I  like 
the  ease  and  luxury  and  exclusiveness ;  but  I 
could  not  buy  any  more  of  them  with  ten  times 
my  fortune.  There  is  a  limit,  you  know,  and 
I  have  reached  it." 

"  But  don't  you  see  I  'm  the  only  person  you 
can  marry  without  giving  up  all  these  things  ?  " 

This  was  a  false  move.  Anne  answered  with 
a  slight  upward  motion  of  her  head. 

"  That  is  a  matter  about  which  you  need  give 


FINE  ARTS  185 

yourself  no  anxiety.  At  least  I  shall  have  the 
satisfaction  of  feeling  that  if  I  marry  some  one 
else,  my  loss  is  your  gain." 

It  was  really  unworthy  of  Anne  Blythe,  and 
she  knew  it  as  soon  as  she  had  spoken;  but  there 
are  some  people  whose  obtuseness  makes  them 
as  responsible  as  ourselves  for  our  brutalities. 
When  a  man  cannot  be  made  to  feel  with  a 
needle-point,  who  is  not  tempted  to  try  a  gimlet*? 

When  Yates  spoke  again  it  was  sullenly.  One 
knew  how  he  might  speak  to  his  wife  ten  years 
hence. 

"  You  need  n't  have  said  that.  It  was  n't  very 
nice  in  you." 

"  Nice  ?  No,  I  should  say  not.  It  was  hor- 
rid, perfectly  horrid.  But  don't  you  see  how  we 
irritate  each  other,  and  if  it  's  like  that  in  one 
short  morning  walk,^what  would  it  be  if  we  tried 
passing  the  whole  of  our  lives  together  ?  " 

"  But  I  love  you,  Anne.  Does  n't  that  make 
a  difference  *?  " 

Yates  looked  so  abjectly  miserable  that  Anne 
felt  a  pain  at  her  heart. 

"  Yes,  it  does,  Tom.  It  makes  me  awfully  fond 
of  you.  And  then  you  're  so  honest  and  outspoken, 
and  don't  try  to  make  yourself  out  better  than  you 
are,  or  wear  a  halo  with  your  every-day  clothes, 
like — like  some  people.  Besides,  it  was  so  good 


186     FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

of  you  to  care  about  me  all  that  time  when  no- 
body else  did,  and  not  to  say  a  word  or  hint  at 
it  —  that  showed  what  stuff  there  was  in  you. 
Really  I  do  love  you,  Tom,  and  I  want  you 
always  to  remember  it,  and  say  to  yourself, 
4  There  's  some  one  that  I  can  call  on  if  ever  I  'm 
in  trouble.'  I  think  I  have  it  in  me  to  be  as 
good  a  friend  as  a  man." 

"And  is  that  all,  Anne?  Is  that  the  last 
word  ?  " 

"  Yes,  dear ;  the  very  last." 

Yates  gulped  down  something  very  like  a  sob. 

"But,  Tom," — Anne's  voice  faltered,  and  she 
turned  away  her  head  a  little, — "  don't  let  it  make 
a  break  between  us.  Please  don't !  I  have  so 
few  friends,  and  I  need  them  so  much." 

"Nonsense,  Anne;  look  at  all  those  people 
the  other  night." 

"  Pooh  !  They  were  acquaintances,  not  friends. 
What  I  mean  by  a  friend  is  a  person  who  lets 
you  alone  a  good  deal,  perhaps,  when  things  are 
going  well  with  you ;  but  once  get  into  trouble, 
there  he  is  at  your  side,  and  all  of  a  sudden  it 
does  n't  seem  trouble  any  more,  because  he  's 
there,  and  he  believes  in  you  through  thick  and 
thin.  And  if  people  say  nasty  things  about  you, 
he  just  smiles  and  lets  them  talk ;  but  he  takes 
your  hand  afterward,  so  it  's  a  comfort ;  and  you 


FINE   ARTS  187 

look  into  his  eyes  and  you  know  what  he  thinks, 
and  then  you  don't  care  any  more." 

Anne  was  holding  her  head  high,  and  the  color 
was  flaming  in  her  cheeks,  red  as  the  poppy-beds 
they  had  left  behind  them  on  the  hillsides.  She 
walked  along  the  Via  Cavour  with  the  air  of  one 
who  scorned  to  change  her  state  with  kings. 

Yates  looked  at  her  a  little  awed.  He  did 
not  know  her  in  this  mood.  He  was  obliged  to 
quicken  his  footsteps  to  keep  pace  with  her. 
They  walked  on  rapidly  in  silence  till  a  turn 
brought  them  to  the  gateway  of  San  Marco. 

Two  people  were  coming  out,  and  met  them 
face  to  face.  Anne  drew  her  breath  sharply. 

"Why,  hulloa,  Eunice!"  exclaimed  Tom. 
"  I  thought  you  were  going  to  a  rehearsal  this 
morning.  You  said  so  when  I  left." 

"It  —  it  was  given  up." 

"  No  matter,"  said  Anne ;  "  all  forms  of  art  are 
equally  desirable." 

Eunice  looked  up  quickly;  then  as  quickly 
her  eyelids  drooped  and  hid  the  expression  of 
her  eyes. 

"Yes,  I  look  back  on  Signer  Paladino's  illness 
as  almost  providential, since  it  brought  me  a  new 
knowledge  of  Fra  Angelico."  Here  she  paused 
an  instant  and  added  under  her  breath,  "and  of 
Mr.  Walford." 


i88      FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

Walford  was  looking  down  and  nervously 
fingering  the  black  cross  which  he  always  wore. 
Anne  fixed  her  eyes  upon  him  and  studied  him 
calmly. 

"  Is  it  a  place  where  I  ought  to  go  *?  "  asked 
Yates,  struggling  valiantly  with  the  difficulties 
of  the  situation.  "  Any  pictures  in  there  worth 
seeing  *?  " 

"  I  am  afraid,  Tom,"  his  sister  answered  sweetly, 
"  that  the  frescos  would  not  please  you.  One 
needs  the  artistic  temperament  and  a  deeply 
spiritual  nature  to  care  for  the  Fra  Angelicos. 
We  have  been  wandering  around  among  them 
in  a  foolish  kind  of  rapture.  But  even  you, 
Tom,  would  be  interested  in  the  prior's  cell, 
where  you  see  Savonarola's  chair  and  his  rosary 
and  hair  shirt,  and  a  piece  of  wood  from  the  fire 
in  which  he  was  burned.  If  you  notice,  Cousin 
Anne,  that  my  eyes  are  red,  I  may  as  well  confess 
that  they  drew  the  tears,  these  silent  symbols  of  so 
much  useless  sacrifice.  I  wish  you  could  have 
heard  what  Mr.  Walford  said  of  them,  of  what 
a  waste  it  all  was,  and  how  necessary  it  was  to 
see  our  way  clearly  before  we  rushed  into  mar- 
tyrdom." 

"  Poor  Savonarola !  "  Anne  exclaimed  with  a 
slightly  ironical  emphasis. 

"  Yes,  that  '3  just  the  way  in  which  Mr.  Wai- 


FINE   ARTS  189 

ford  spoke  of  him.     He  says  he  does  so  pity  a 
man  who  makes  mistake  in  his  life-work." 

"  All  mistakes  are  pitiable,"  said  Anne.  For 
the  first  time  Walford  raised  his  eyes ;  but  they 
fell  again  before  her  calm,  direct  gaze. 

"  Some  are  unpardonable,"  he  murmured. 

Anne  saw  no  reason  for  a  response.  She  stood 
looking  at  him  with  a  sense  of  admiration  of  his 
physical  beauty,  the  sensitive  mouth,  the  intel 
lectual  brow,  and  the  impressive  setting  of  the 
head  upon  the  shoulders;  but,  with  all  this,  she 
was  conscious  of  an  aloofness,  as  if  he  were  no- 
longer  in  her  world. 

After  an  instant's  pause  she  turned  to  Yatesr 
saying :  "  Come,  Tom ;  if  we  are  to  get  the 
morning  light  on  those  pictures  we  must  hurry. 
Good  morning,  Mr.  Walford.  Good  morning, 
Eunice.  And,  Oh,  by  the  way,  next  time  we 
meet  will  you  try  to  remember  the  prescription 
for  my  headache?  You  know  you  came  up  to 
the  villa  on  purpose  to  give  it  to  me,  but  some- 
thing must  have  driven  it  out  of  your  mind." 

Anne  thrust  the  remark  in  to  the  hilt.  Even 
the  men  felt  that  something  was  amiss. 

Eunice  colored. 

"  Forgive  me,  Anne  !  "  she  said  gently ;  and 
then  she  and  Walford  turned  away,  while  Mrs. 
Blythe  and  her  cousin  went  on  toward  the  Ac- 


190     FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

cademia.  Before  they  had  gone  more  than  a 
few  steps  Yates  stopped  short. 

"Anne,  how  much  do  you  care  about  seeing 
those  pictures  ?  " 

"  Not  a  brass  farthing,"  Anne  answered. 

"  Then,  if  you  don't  mind,  suppose  we  don't 
go  in.  I  'm  not  up  to  it." 

"  Very  well ;  let  us  go  home,"  said  Mrs. 
Blythe  ;  and  they  turned  on  their  steps,  retracing 
the  way  through  the  street,  out  at  the  city  gates, 
and  up  the  long  Fiesole  hill.  All  the  way  they 
scarcely  spoke.  When  they  reached  the  gate 
of  the  villa,  Mrs.  Blythe  broke  the  silence,  saying  : 

"  You  '11  come  in,  won't  you,  Tom  ?  " 

"  No,  thank  you,  Anne;  not  to-day.  I  could  n't 
quite  stand  it." 

"  Very  well  —  another  day,  then."  Anne  held 
out  the  right  hand  of  fellowship.  Tom  took  it. 

"And,  Anne,  there  's  another  thing  I  wanted 
to  say.  I  've  always  thought  you  were  too  hard 
on  Eunice.  You  're  right ;  she  's  a  cat" 

Mrs.  Blythe  put  out  her  other  hand  and 
grasped  both  of  Tom's  cordially. 

"  Now  we  are  friends,"  she  said,  smiled  into 
his  eyes  for  a  moment,  and,  turning,  walked 
swiftly  through  the  gate. 

On  the  terrace  Fleming  and  the  Bishop  were 
pacing  to  and  fro,  the  former  with  a  cigar,  the 


FINE  ARTS  191 

latter  with  hands  locked  behind  him,  under  his 
coat,  after  a  fashion  which  he  had  acquired  years 
before  in  his  study,  pondering  his  sermons. 
Anne  decided  that  she  would  change  her  dress 
before  joining  them,  and  slipped  into  the  house 
by  a  side  door. 

The  two  men  continued  their  walk  and  their 
talk.  In  Rome  they  had  formed  a  habit  of  inti- 
mate companionship,  and  they  spoke  their  minds 
to  each  other  with  a  freedom  possible  only  to 
reserved  men  who  find  at  last  a  channel  of  com- 
munication at  once  safe  and  easy,  able  to  bear 
conversational  shipping  of  heavy  draft,  and  yet 
with  frequent  harbors  for  small  talk. 

A  turn  in  their  promenade  brought  Yates's  re- 
treating figure  in  view. 

"  I  wonder  why  he  did  not  come  in,"  the  Bishop 
said. 

Fleming,  having  no  explanation  to  offer,  at- 
tempted none. 

"  I  'm  glad  that  he  did  n't,"  he  ventured. 

"  I  am  not  sorry  myself:  I  cannot  understand 
what  my  niece  sees  to  like  in  him." 

"  I  can  -  "  Fleming  began,  and  then  bit  his  lip. 

"  What  is  it  ?  " 

"  Pardon  me !  I  did  not  intend  to  volunteer 
my  opinion  in  such  an  intimate  matter.  It  was 
very  stupid." 


192     FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

"  On  the  contrary,  you  can  be  of  real  service 
by  speaking  candidly.  I  should  be  much  obliged 
if  you  would,  and  you  know,  I  think,  that  it  will 
go  no  further." 

"Then,"  said  Fleming,  throwing  away  his 
cigar,  "  I  should  say  that  it  lies  in  the  fact  that 
Mrs.  Blythe  likes  a  sense  of  superiority,  and  that 
Yates  offers  an  excellent  opportunity  for  it." 

"  You  think  it  's  only  that  ?  " 

"  Not  quite." 

"  What  else  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Blythe's  nature  has  many  sides. 
After  she  has  carried  her  esthetics  and  philoso- 
phizing a  shade  too  far,  she  loves  to  throw  them 
aside  and  plunge  into  frank  materialism.  There  's 
where  Yates  appeals  to  her.  Besides,  she  enjoys 
her  liking  for  him  as  a  neat  antithesis  to  her  dis- 
like of  his  sister.  We  can't  afford  to  dislike  too 
many  people  at  the  same  time.  It  reflects  on  our 
own  amiability." 

"  You  understand  Anne,  I  see." 

"  Only  in  phases,  here  and  there.  It  would  be 
a  bold  man  who  professed  to  understand  Mrs. 
Blythe's  character  as  a  whole.  She  is  as  full  of 
surprises  as  a  Christmas-box." 

"  Yes,  too  many  by  half!  She  has  no  under- 
lying principle  of  consistency  in  her  actions." 

"  Is  n't  that,  after  all,  what  makes  her  charm 


FINE   ARTS  193 

in  a  too  well-regulated  world  ?  She  has  no  pre- 
arranged platitudes  of  conduct." 

"  If  Anne  had  more  platitudes  of  conduct  it 
would  be  less  fatiguing  for  one  who  feels  the  re- 
sponsibility. I  am  often  anxious." 

"  Don't  you  think,  Bishop,  that,  believing  in 
Providence  as  you  do,  you  might  trust  something 
to  it?" 

"  To  return  to  Yates  — "  said  the  Bishop,  who 
was  a  passed  master  in  the  art  of  changing  the 
topic  of  conversation. 

"Yes ;  to  return  to  Yates — "  assented  Fleming. 

"  He  is  a  curious  product  of  metropolitan  life,"" 
the  Bishop  observed,  "  a  thorough  barbarian,  with 
a  veneer  of  civilization." 

"  I  fancy  a  man  must  be  something  of  a  bar- 
barian to  succeed  as  Yates  has  done.  The  privi- 
lege of  sensitiveness  is  reserved  for  the  second 
generation  of  success." 

"  And  the  privilege  of  decadence  for  the  third." 

"  Yes ;  those  are  time's  revenges." 

"But,  after  all,"  said  the  Bishop,  "we  are 
speaking  of  a  vulgar  success." 

"  What  extension  do  you  give  to  the  word 
*  vulgar '  ?  " 

"I  call  a  vulgar  success  one  which  sets  the  ma- 
terial above  the  spiritual,  which  dispenses  with 
ideals.  Christianity  owes  its  distinction  to  the 


194     FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

stress  it  lays  on  the  value  of  thoughts  versus 
things.  Fancy  the  magnificent  audacity  of  Paul, 
standing  up  in  that  hard  old  Roman  world  and 
telling  the  men  of  Rome  and  Corinth  and  Ephesus 
that  their  glory  of  temples  and  palaces  was  a 
mere  delusion  of  the  senses,  that  the  only  real 
things  —  the  things  of  consequence  —  were  re- 
pentance and  faith,  love,  joy,  peace,  and  long- 
suffering  ! " 

"  Yes,"  thought  Fleming,  "  and  when  Paul's 
Christianity  had  triumphed,  it  began  straightway 
to  build  its  own  temples  and  palaces  and  to 
knock  the  fruits  of  the  Spirit  ofT  the  tree  with  a 
club."  He  said  nothing  of  this  aloud,  however. 
It  would  have  been  like  interrupting  a  sermon. 

The  Bishop  warmed  to  his  subject.  "  They 
have  asked  me,"  he  said,  "  to  preach  next  Sunday 
in  the  American  chapel,  and  I  intend  to  talk  about 
the  sham  of  the  Renaissance,  the  futility  of  the 
effort  to  revive  the  Greek  spirit  when  the  shadow 
of  the  cross  of  Christ  had  fallen  between  the  an- 
cient and  modern  worlds.  A  man  might  as  well 
pretend  himself  back  into  childhood.  We  can- 
not ignore  an  epoch-making  experience  either  in 
humanity  or  in  the  individual,  I  shall  take  for 
my  text :  '  And  he,  bearing  his  cross,  went  forth.' " 

The  men  took  several  turns  in  silence.  Then 
the  Bishop  spoke  again. 


FINE   ARTS  195 

**  I  don't  think  it  is  any  breach  ot  confidence," 
he  said,  "to  tell  you  what  led  me  into  this  train 
of  thought.  Some  time  ago  a  man  came  to  me 
and  announced  his  intention  of  going  to  the  ut- 
termost parts  of  the  earth  as  a  missionary  to  an 
afflicted  people.  He  was  hot  with  zeal  and  eager 
for  the  sacrifice ;  but  the  words  of  my  text  haunted 
rny  mind  as  I  listened  to  him.  I  felt  that  he 
would  not  flinch  if  he  were  nailed  to  a  cross  in 
view  of  the  multitude;  but  as  to  bearing  it 
through  unnoted  slums  and  byways  before  he 
reached  his  Calvary,  I  could  not  feel  sure  that 
it  was  in  him  to  do  it.  I  advised  waiting.  I 
changed  the  current  of  his  activities,  and  now, 
from  all  that  I  hear  (the  man  was  an  intimate 
friend  of  friends  of  mine,  and  they  often  write  of 
him),  I  gather  that  his  purpose  is  waning,  that  he 
is  turning  from  the  asceticism  of  the  Cross  to  the 
estheticism  of  the  Renaissance.  I  have  had  many 
bad  quarters  of  an  hour  on  the  subject  with  my 
conscience." 

"I  don't  see  why  you  should,"  said  Fleming; 
"  upon  my  soul,  I  don't.  A  life-purpose  which 
could  be  shaken  by  a  counsel  of  delay  would 
have  gone  to  pieces  at  the  first  shock  of  trial, 
anyway. —  Good  morning,  Mrs.  Blythe  !  " 


XII 


ONE    BEHELD    AND    DIED 


"  Some  of  him  lived  ;  but  most  of  him  died 
Even  as  you  and  I — " 


WALFORD  was  at  the  crisis  of  his  fate. 
The  crucial  moment  had  come.  The 
question  was  this :  Had  his  nature  inherent  no- 
bility efiough  to  humble  itself?  Would  he  go 
back  to  Anne  Blythe  and  say :  "  I  did  a  dishon- 
orable thing.  It  has  poisoned  more  than  half  a 
year  of  my  life  with  mean,  miserable  suspicions. 
Forgive  me  "  *? 

This  was  what  his  conscience  prompted  him 
to  do;  but  vanity  pulled  him  by  the  sleeve  and 
whispered:  "Not  to  her!  Humiliate  yourself 
before  any  one  else,  but  not  in  the  eyes  of  the 
woman  who  has  looked  up  to  you  for  light  and 
guidance.  No,  not  to  her!  "  Moreover,  he  had 
made  a  sort  of  overture  there  before  San  Marco. 
If  Eunice  Yates  had  not  been  present  he  would 
have  been  glad  to  say  more.  He  had  conjured 

196 


•'ONE   BEHELD   AND   DIED"      197 

up  meetings  with  Mrs.  Blythe  in  which  he  should 
make  graceful  acknowledgment  of  his  perhaps 
unwarrantable  interference  in  her  affairs:  but  it 
would  not  do.  Something  in  Anne's  eyes  in  that 
instant  of  their  meeting  had  told  him  that  no 
superficial  balm  would  heal  the  wound.  It 
must  be  probed  first.  He  must  say,  "  I  am 
guilty,"  or  all  must  remain  unsaid.  He  saw  that 
Anne  was  ready  to  accept  either  alternative,  but 
no  compromise.  Still,  she  might  have  said  some- 
thing—  something  which  would  have  made  it 
easier.  It  was  not  to  be  expected  that  a  man 
should  humiliate  himself  in  public  and  before 
those  unsympathetic  eyes. 

After  all,  what  was  it  that  he  had  done  *?  A 
dying  woman  had  handed  him  an  unsealed  letter 
without  comment,  without  any  request  that  he 
should  not  inspect  it;  and  she  did  not  belong  to 
:he  class  in  which  such  things  are  done  as  a  matter 
of  courtesy.  Why,  of  course  a  man  of  the  world 
would  think  nothing  of  it,  and  in  this  case  so 
much  had  been  at  stake !  It  was  so  desirable 
that  he  should  know  the  real  state  of  the  case 
with  this  interesting  parishioner  who  had  opened 
her  heart  to  him  —  at  least  in  part  —  at  their  first 
meeting. 

It  was  as  if  the  shepherd  of  the  ninety  and 
nine  had  been  over-scrupulous  as  to  methods  of 


198    FOUR  ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

learning  the  whereabouts  of  the  lost  sheep.  It 
was  his  business  to  know.  Really  he  should  have 
blamed  himself  if  she  had  done  wrong  and  he 
had  failed  to  arm  himself  at  all  points  to  help 
her.  God  knew  he  would  not  have  been  as  hard 
toward  her  as  she  had  shown  herself  to  him.  To 
be  sure,  she  had  not  done  wrong,  and  that  com- 
plicated everything. 

To  some  men  that  scene  in  the  Piacevole 
music-room  would  have  carried  no  conviction; 
but  to  Walford  it  was  final.  He  was  no  more 
inclined  to  weigh  evidence  now  than  months  ago 
in  Central  Park,  when  the  blow  had  first  fallen. 
He  felt  the  full  force  of  his  blunder,  the  full  dis- 
credit of  his  conduct.  Probably  Mrs.  Blythe 
would  tell  the  Bishop,  and  Walford  felt  his 
cheek  scorch  at  the  thought  of  that  prelate's  cyni- 
cal smile.  No,  he  could  not  face  it. 

To  comprehend  Walford's  state  of  mind  it  is 
needful  to  consider  the  atmosphere  in  which  he 
had  spent  the  last  year.  To  be  admired  is  more 
thaa  most  men's  heads  will  bear  without  turning 
giddy ;  to  be  adored  is  too  much,  and  adoration 
or  something  akin  to  it  had  been  Walford's 
portion. 

The  rift  in  the  lute  with  Walford  was  vanity. 
Unconsciously  to  himself,  it  had  lain  at  the  bot- 
tom of  his  noblest  aspirations,  and  was  so  inter- 


"ONE   BEHELD  AND   DIED"      199 

mixed  with  them  that  to  strike  at  one  was  to 
destroy  the  other.  He  was  like  a  man  poisoned 
with  the  sacramental  wafer. 

When  he  poured  out  before  Bishop  Alston 
his  longing  to  go  forth  as  a  soldier  of  the  Cross 
among  the  lepers,  there  was  no  insincerity  in  his 
mind.  He  did  long  to  go.  He  longed  to  be  of 
service  to  these  neglected  outcasts.  But  it  must  be 
he  who  rendered  the  service.  It  was  not  so  much 
the  thought  of  help  to  the  lepers,  as  the  thought 
of  himself  ministering  to  them,  which  appealed 
to  him. 

When  he  felt  his  heart  warm  toward  Anne 
Blythe  in  her  grief,  there  was  always  the  picture 
in  his  mind  of  himself  soothing,  stimulating, 
uplifting.  Later  still,  when  he  read  Rene*e 
Jaudon's  letter,  it  gave  him  a  certain  painful 
satisfaction  to  fancy  himself  the  accusing  angel 
bearing  the  sword  of  retribution  in  one  hand  and 
the  cup  of  consolation  in  the  other.  Always  and 
everywhere  Stuart  Walford  occupied  the  center 
of  the  canvas. 

Apollyon  struck  him  in  the  weakest  joint 
of  his  armor  when  he  laid  that  open  letter  at  his 
feet.  The  desire  for  influence, —  "influence  for 
good,"  —  that  ideal  which  Walford  had  professed 
at  the  club,  had  been  the  cause  of  his  undoing. 
Unwilling  as  he  would  have  been  to  admit  it  to 


200     FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

himself,  he  had  found  a  melancholy  interest, 
during  all  these  months,  in  the  thought  of  Anne 
as  a  penitent,  claiming  his  pity,  his  sympathy, 
his  intercession  at  the  throne  of  grace.  How 
could  a  man  who  had  lived  in  such  a  frame  of 
mind  for  months  suddenly  admit  that  it  was  he 
who  must  wear  the  dust  upon  his  garments,  the 
ashes  on  his  head,  and  say  to  the  woman  whom 
he  loved :  **  I  have  sinned  against  heaven,  and  in 
thy  sight"? 

Perhaps  there  had  been  a  deeper  note  than 
Eunice  Yates  could  comprehend  in  Walford's 
sympathy  with  Savonarola.  Here,  too,  was  a  man 
with  noble  impulses  led  hopelessly  astray  by  the 
mad  passion  for  "  influence  for  good,"  by  that 
curious  confounding  of  his  own  voice  with  the 
voice  of  the  Lord,  which  made  it  seem  a  blow 
at  the  cause  of  righteousness  to  confess  himself 
a  weak,  sinful  man. 

One  wonders  if  that  was  in  Walford's  mind  as 
he  looked  at  the  prior's  crucifix  and  shirt  of  hair 
there  in  the  convent  of  San  Marco,  or  if  that  was 
the  power  which  drew  his  steps  half  unconsciously 
toward  Savonarola's  cathedral  as  he  walked  the 
Florentine  streets,  battling  with  himself,  on  this 
beautiful  April  afternoon. 

It  was  with  a  distinct  sense  of  pleasure  that  he 
reached  the  Duomo,  and  lifting  the  heavy  cur- 


"ONE   BEHELD   AND   DIED"     201 

tain,  felt  the  chill  of  the  church  within  strike 
cool  on  his  hot  forehead. 

To  a  nature  as  susceptible  as  his  it  almost 
seemed  that  the  change  of  air  would  bring  a 
change  of  mental  atmosphere  as  well,  and  he  was 
very  tired ;  so  tired  that  with  a  sigh  of  relief  he 
felt  the  tension  about  his  head  give  way,  and 
realized  that  for  the  first  time  in  twenty-four 
hours  he  could  stop  thinking.  That  endless 
repetition  of  the  question,  "  Shall  I  see  her  ? 
Shall  I  not  see  her  ?  "  ceased  to  hammer  at  his 
brain.  He  could  be  still. 

It  was  the  hour  of  vespers,  and  the  distant 
hymns  in  the  choir,  the  faint  glimmer  of  the  ta- 
pers, the  scent  of  the  incense,  fell  upon  his  weari- 
ness like  a  benediction.  He  yielded  to  the  spirit 
of  the  place  and  sank  down  before  a  side  altar  — 
but  not  to  pray;  rather  to  give  himself  up  to  the 
sweetness  of  the  abandonment  of  struggle  —  to 
find  rest.  He  closed  his  eyes.  A  long  fast  and 
a  sleepless  night  had  brought  him  to  the  point 
where  men  see  visions,  and  indeed  white-robed 
figures  seemed  to  hover  about  him,  and  he  al- 
most caught  the  strains  which  had  haunted  him 
ever  since  the  night  of  Mrs.  Blythe's  musicale: 

"  Angel*,  ever  bright  and  fair, 
Take,  oh,  take  me  to  your  care!" 


202     FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

With  the  natural  association  of  the  song,  the 
singer  rose  before  his  eyes.  How  beautiful  she 
was  —  this  woman  who  had  so  lately  come  into 
his  life !  How  sympathetic  had  been  her  re- 
sponse to  his  suggestions  of  the  underlying  mean- 
ings in  the  Fra  Angelicos !  How  uplifting  her 
aspirations;  how  exalted  her  predictions  of  the 
future  that  lay  before  him  !  Ah,  there  was  some 
one  who  trusted  and  looked  up  to  him !  With 
her  there  would  be  no  need  of  painful  explana- 
tions. If  he  ever  told  her  the  story  of  the  letter, 
as  very  likely  he  might  some  day,  he  was  sure 
that  he  could  make  her  look  at  it  from  his  point  of 
view  —  make  her  see  how  it  all  came  about.  She 
would  understand  how  good  the  thread  of  his 
intentions  had  been,  even  if  fate  had  tangled  the 
skein  of  action. 

In  his  efforts  at  self-exculpation  he  went 
back  to  the  old  pagan  idea  of  fate  as  a  force 
working  from  without  and  independent  of 
human  character.  He  was  glad  to  think  of  it 
so.  It  lifted  the  burden  of  responsibility  from 
his  weak  shoulders  and  thrust  it  upon  a  vast, 
vague,  inscrutable  somewhat  whose  name  was 
Destiny. 

At  length  he  rose  and  made  his  way  out  at  the 
great  doorway.  The  dream  was  over.  He  came 
out  into  the  light  and  glow  and  color  and  heat  of 


"ONE   BEHELD  AND   DIED"     203 

the  open  square,  into  the  clash  and  clang,  barter 
and  strife,  of  every-day  existence. 

Once  outside  the  door,  he  stood  hesitating 
at  the  foot  of  the  steps.  In  one  direction  lay 
the  Via  Calzaioli,  leading  to  the  pension  in  the 
Lungarno  alle  Grazie  where  Eunice  Yates  was 
staying.  In  the  opposite  direction  the  Via 
Ricasoli  led  to  the  Porta  San  Gallo,  to  Fiesole, 
—  to  Anne  !  Which  should  he  take  ? 

He  looked  toward  the  hill  rising  softly  through 
the  mist.  Its  green,  misty  slope  seemed  to  beckon 
him,  but  the  stones  lay  hard  between.  He  set 
his  teeth  and  turned  northward,  walking  rapidly 
for  a  couple  of  blocks ;  then  he  stopped,  breath- 
ing heavily.  "  I  cannot  do  it !  I  cannot ! "  he 
exclaimed ;  and  wheeling  about,  he  strode  with 
determined  steps  along  the  Via  Calzaioli  in  the 
direction  of  the  Arno. 

Eunice  Yates  was  sitting  alone  in  the  recep- 
tion-room of  the  pension  when  Walford  entered. 
He  was  thankful  that  it  was  so.  He  could  not 
have  borne  to  encounter  the  groups  of  idle 
listeners  who,  as  he  knew,  would  fill  the  room 
a  little  later,  when  the  sight-seeing  hours  were 
over. 

Clearly  his  call  was  well-timed,  and  he  felt 
that  no  picture  by  one  of  the  old  masters  could 
have  been  more  beautiful  than  this  which  greeted 


204     FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

his  eye,  of  Eunice  by  the  window,  working  at 
the  embroidery  of  an  altar-cloth.  The  dull  brown 
plush  of  the  shabby  sofa  only  served  as  a  back- 
ground for  the  pure  tints  of  her  skin,  and  the 
cold  north  light  warmed  itself  in  the  brightness 
of  her  hair.  As  Walford  came  in  she  rose,  with 
calm  welcome,  but  with  no  surprise.  He,  on  his 
part,  was  far  from  calm. 

"  I  ought  not  to  have  come,"  he  said  in  an 
agitated  voice,  "  but  I  was  irresistibly  impelled." 

"  Don't  you  think  it  is  often  like  that  ?  "  she 
responded  —  "  that  the  leading  comes  if  we  sub- 
mit ourselves  to  the  guidance  of  the  Spirit?" 

"  That  is  a  beautiful  thought." 

"  Yes,  to  me  it  is  very  beautiful.  I  often  think 
that  the  prophets  and  holy  men  of  old  differed 
from  other  men  in  just  this  —  their  willingness 
to  be  led  by  the  Spirit.  Is  n't  it  Isaiah  who 
says :  '  As  for  me,  the  secret  is  not  revealed 
to  me  for  any  wisdom  that  I  have  more  than 
any  living"?  It  was  just  submissiveness,  was  n't 
it?" 

"  Thank  you  !  "  said  Walford,  fervently.  "  I 
shall  use  that  text  for  a  sermon  some  day.  The 
words  of  the  sermon  will  be  mine,  but  the  inspi- 
ration will  be  yours.  Do  you  know  the  mean- 
ing of  your  name  *?  It  signifies  '  Victory.'  I 
shall  always  think  of  it  after  this." 

Eunice  looked  down  and  allowed  a  moment's 


"ONE   BEHELD  AND   DIED"     205 

appreciative  silence  to  follow  Walford's  words. 
Then  she  spoke : 

"  What  a  privilege  I  have  to  look  forward 
to  in  going  home,  Mr.  Walford,  to  sit  un- 
der your  preaching,  to  be  led  by  your  example 
and  influence  !  When  I  was  in  America  before, 
my  soul  was  starved  for  spiritual  companionship. 
My  life  lay  among  people  —  well,  people  like 
my  cousin,  Mrs.  Blythe.  Dear  Anne  !  She  is  so 
sympathetic  in  her  manner  that  one  is  with  her  a 
long  time  before  he  finds  out  that  she  is  heartless." 

"Really  heartless?" 

"  I  wish  I  could  think  of  some  kinder  word  to 
describe  her  lack  of  feeling.  You  have  noticed 
it  already,  I  am  sure,  or  nothing  should  tempt 
me  to  speak  of  it." 

"  I  have  noticed  a  certain  lack — " 

"  Of  course  you  have.  A  man  of  your  sensi- 
tive fiber  was  sure  to  notice  it.  And  then,  the 
levity  with  which  she  takes  serious  subjects.  I 
could  not  admire  enough  the  patience  with 
which  you  treated  her  there  at  San  Marco." 

Walford  felt  as  if  his  crumpled  self-respect 
had  been  handed  back  to  him,  neatly  pressed 
and  folded,  and  altogether  almost  as  good  as 
new.  He  wrapped  himself  in  it  as  in  a  garment. 
It  seemed  good  to  get  back  to  it. 

"  Oh,  one  must  have  patience ! "  he  murmured. 
"  It  would  ill  become  a  priest  to  judge  others 


206     FOUR  ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

harshly.  But  Mrs.  Blythe  —  what  development 
of  her  character  do  you  look  for  ?  " 

"That,"  said  Eunice,  "will  depend  on  the 
man  whom  she  marries.  Anne  has  very  little 
original  force.  Her  tone  is  always  drawn  from 
those  around  her.  You  who  see  everything  have 
seen  that  too." 

"  And  is  there  any  one  with  whom  you  think 
her  marriage  likely  ?  " 

"  Have  you  ever  thought  of  Mr.  Fleming  *?  " 

Walford  started,  and  for  an  instant  he  felt  a 
distinct  pang ;  but  it  was  not  real. 

"  He  is  a  very  ardent  champion,"  he  said. 

"  *  Champion  '  —  that  is  just  the  word.  The 
man  who  marries  Mrs.  Blythe  will  find  many- 
things  which  can  be  neither  reasoned  nor  ex- 
plained away — fthey  must  be  championed.  I 
admire  Mr.  Fleming  in  spite  of  his  coldness  and 
his  satisfaction  with  himself.  I  am  sure  I  wish 
Anne  much  happiness  if  she  gets  him  —  that  is, 
if  circumstances  draw  them  together.  If  they 
marry,  you  know,  it  will  make  a  strange  differ- 
ence in  Anne's  position  and  mine  relatively." 

"  Yes,  I  have  heard." 

"  I  often  think  —  one  can  but  think  some- 
times of  these  things  —  what  I  should  do  if  her 
millions  should  by  chance  fall  into  my  hands  — 
what  I  should  do  with  them." 


"ONE   BEHELD  AND   DIED"     207 

«'  What  would  you  do  ?  " 

"I  think,  for  one  thing,  I  should  found  a 
school  of  sacred  music  in  New  York  —  right  in 
the  center  of  materialism,  in  the  very  core  of 
unbelief  and  indifference.  What  a  triumph  to 
battle  with  them  through  something  so  impalpa- 
ble, so  gentle,  and  yet  so  subduing  as  music ! " 

"  It  is  an  inspiration." 

Eunice  dropped  her  needle  and  fixed  her  eyes 
beyond  Walford.  "  Yes,  I  would  build  an  ex- 
quisite chapel  in  connection  with  some  church 
like  St.  Simeon's.  I  would  fill  it  with  sacred 
relics  of  the  Old  World,  with  tapestries  and  fres- 
cos and  fonts  and  choir-stalls  from  the  churches 
over  here.  I  would  have  the  finest  organ  the  world 
could  produce  —  not  over-powerful,  you  know, 
but  perfect  in  harmony;  and  there,  with  all  that 
beauty  around  them,  the  musicians  should  be 
trained  to  render  Bach  and  Handel  and  Pales- 
trina,  and  at  Easter  we  would  give  the  *  Messiah ' 
with  a  noble  chorus !  " 

Walford  looked  at  her  with  reverence. 

"  Such  a  vision,"  he  exclaimed,  "  could  not 
come  to  you  unless  Heaven  meant  to  make  you 
the  instrument  of  its  fulfilment." 

**  I  have  thought  that  too ;  indeed,  it  was  so 
strongly  impressed  upon  me  at  the  time  of  my 
uncle  Richard's  death  that  I  almost  felt  it  a  mat- 


208     FOUR  ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

tcr  of  conscience  to  contest  the  will ;  but  an  in- 
ward voice  bade  me  wait  and  told  me  that 
Cousin  Anne's  marriage  was  only  a  matter  of 
time.  You  see,"  she  added,  smiling  gently,  "  the 
inward  voice  was  right." 

"  And  the  vision  will  be  fulfilled." 

Walford  looked  at  her  with  ardent  eyes. 

She  answered  in  low,  level  tones :  "  I  only  fear 
that  I  should  not  be  equal  to  its  fulfilment.  My 
judgment  is  not  sound  enough,  my  will  not  firm 
enough." 

Walford  moved  from  his  chair  to  the  corner  of 
the  sofa  opposite  Eunice  Yates.  The  window 
behind  cast  a  nimbus  of  light  round  her  head, 
softly  silhouetted  against  the  sky.  Her  beauty 
stole  his  judgment. 

When  he  spoke  again  his  voice  faltered : 

"  Did  you  ever  know  a  man  worthy  in  any  re- 
spect of  such  a  trust  ?  " 

The  gray  eyes  opened  large  upon  him.  No 
word  was  spoken,  yet  the  silence  thrilled  with 
meaning. 

Walford  breathed  hard.  He  took  up  the  skein 
of  embroidery  silk  and  twisted  it  nervously  in  his 
fingers.  One  of  the  signs  of  his  lack  of  early 
social  training  was  the  necessity  of  doing  some- 
thing with  his  hands,  especially  when  under  any 
strain  or  stress. 


"ONE   BEHELD   AND   DIED"     209 

"  Miss  Yates ! "  he  said  at  last ;  then  lower, 
"Eunice!" 

A  cool  hand  fluttered  toward  him.  He  caught 
and  held  it  while  he  went  on : 

"  Would  you  count  it  presumption  if  I  thrust 
my  life-problem  upon  you  ?  " 

Eunice  simply  looked  at  him ;  but  he  seemed 
to  find  the  answer  of  her  eyes  sufficient  and  satis- 
factory, for  he  went  on : 

"  From  the  moment  when  I  first  saw  you  there 
in  the  Fiesole  garden  I  felt  that  you  had  a  message 
for  me  —  that  Heaven  meant  you  to  be  more 
than  a  stranger;  that  our  destinies  were  some- 
how twisted  together,  like  this  silk  I  have  been 
tangling  hopelessly  here." 

"  Never  mind  —  the  silk,  I  mean.  As  for  the 
other,  I  felt  it  too ;  and  yet  how  easily  we  might 
have  missed  each  other ! " 

"  It  could  not  have  been,  Eunice  —  it  could 
not.  The  beings  whom  fate  decrees  to  be  some- 
thing to  each  other  cannot  evade  their  destiny. 
It  is  vain  for  seas  or  mountains  to  set  up  their 
barriers  between  such.  As  to  refusing  to  heed 
the  call  of  soul  to  soul,  the  blade  of  grass  might 
as  well  refuse  to  bend  before  the  wind.  When 
affinity  asserts  itself  it  is  absolute,  compelling, 
and  will  be  obeyed.  Therefore  I  shall  make  no 
excuses  for  laying  bare  my  heart  to  you." 


210     FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

Eunice  sighed;  but  it  was  not  the  sigh  of 
melancholy. 

"  When  I  was  a  mere  boy,"  Walford  went  on, 
keeping  meanwhile  a  lookout  toward  the  door, 
lest  some  one  should  be  overhearing,  "  I  was 
fired  with  the  desire  to  be  of  use  in  the  world. 
When  men  praised  my  eloquence,  a  mere  trick 
of  speech  in  my  own  eyes,  I  asked  only  to  be 
allowed  to  lay  it  as  an  acceptable  sacrifice  on  the 
altar  of  the  Lord.  Then  I  read  of  Damien  and 
of  how  he  had  given  up  his  life  to  the  service  of 
the  lepers.  Ah  !  you  shudder ;  but  it  is  because 
you  think  of  the  trials  and  not  of  the  rewards. 
I  felt  that  nothing  would  make  me  happier  than  to 
follow  in  his  footsteps.  I  made  my  plans  ;  I  was 
ready  to  go.  I  went  to  Bishop  Alston  and  begged 
him  to  bless  my  mission  and  receive  my  vows." 

"And  he,"  questioned  Eunice,  leaning  for- 
ward, "  what  did  he  say  *?  Did  he  not  plead 
against  such  a  sacrifice  *?  " 

"  '  Sacrifice '  —  that  was  what  he  called  it,  and 
the  word  startled  me.  Not  that  I  thought  of 
my  own  paltry  life  —  I  felt  that  I  had  flung  that 
ahead  of  me  into  the  battle,  as  Douglas  flung  the 
heart  of  Bruce;  but  I  said  to  myself:  'What  if 
it  were  a  sacrifice  in  the  higher  sense  *?  What 
if  in  another  field  my  gifts  would  serve  a  deeper 
need  and  in  a  wider  sphere  ?  '  " 


"ONE   BEHELD  AND   DIED"     213 

"Yes,  indeed,"  Eunice  murmured;  "you 
ought  surely  to  think  of  that." 

"  The  feeling  has  grown  upon  me  —  I  confess 
it  has  —  as  my  eyes  have  been  opened  to  the 
many  avenues  of  the  world's  work.  More  than 
that,  I  have  been  brought  to  see  the  moral  lep- 
rosy which  exists,  not  far  off,  but  close  at  our 
doors,  there  in  New  York,  where  the  lepers  are 
not  even  in  the  slums,  but  live  in  rich  men's 
palaces  and  eat  at  rich  men's  tables.  I  have 
asked  myself:  '  Have  I  any  right  to  turn  away 
from  such  as  these,  my  brethren,  to  give  myself 
to  strangers  and  aliens  ? ' 

"  A  man  of  your  breadth  and  depth  of  spiritual 
experience  was  sure  to  come  to  that  —  you  could 
not  escape  it" 

"You  think  so,  Eunice  —  you  really  think 
so?" 

"  To  me  it  is  as  clear  as  sunlight  on  crystal. 
The  Lord  adapts  men  to  the  work  which  He  has 
for  them  to  do.  If  He  had  really  meant  you  for 
this  missionary  service  of  which  you  dreamed  in 
your  young  enthusiasm,  He  would  have  given  you 
a  sturdy  body  and  a  phlegmatic  soul  capable  of 
long  resistance  to  disease,  and  calmness  in  the 
face  of  the  sufferings  of  others.  Instead  He  has 
endowed  you  with  an  exquisite  sensitiveness 
of  nature,  attuned  to  all  beauty,  and  then  be- 


214     FOUR  ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

stowed  upon  you  the  incomparable  gift  of  elo- 
quence to  move  the  hearts  of  your  fellow-men 
and  stir  in  them  noble  impulses  to  all  divine 
aspirations.  Do  not,  I  beg  of  you,  do  not  throw 
away  this  heaven-sent  opportunity ;  do  not  ignore 
this  unmistakable  leading  of  Providence." 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  how  it  helps  me  to  have 
you  speak  with  such  a  fervor  of  conviction.  I 
will  not  deny  that  it  chimes  in  with  the  conclu- 
sions of  my  own  judgment;  but  I  so  feared  to 
be  misled  by  any  considerations  of  self." 

"  The  only  danger  will  lie  in  considering  your- 
self too  little.  It  is  an  arduous  work  on  which 
you  are  entering,  if  you  decide  to  labor  in  the 
home  vineyard." 

"It  is  —  I  appreciate  that;  but  that  only 
makes  it  the  better  worth  while.  I  have  laid  my 
problem  before  you,  Eunice,  and  I  am  resolved 
to  abide  by  your  decision.  You  know  the  cir- 
cumstances—  you  know  how  I  long  to  go;  but 
you  can  estimate,  perhaps  better  than  I  can  my- 
self, the  need  of  me  where  I  am.  Which  shall 
it  be  *?  Shall  I  stay  or  go  ?  " 

"  Believe  me,  you  should  stay.  Your  field,  your 
calling,  your  career,  your  duty,  all  lie  in  New 
York."  ' 

"  But,  Eunice,  like  you,  I  fear  to  enter  upon 
this  new  life,  this  changed  career,  alone.  If  I  go 


"ONE   BEHELD   AND   DIED"     215 

out  among  the  lepers,  my  course  is  clear — I 
give  up  at  the  outset  all  that  makes  life  dear  to 
most  men  ;  but  if  I  remain  among  my  fellows,  I 
must  live  as  men  live  —  to  reach  and  influence 
them  I  must  be  thoroughly  one  of  them;  so  you  see 
you  have  solved  only  half  my  problem,  after  all." 

Eunice  looked  down  with  an  air  of  sweet  and 
bashful  bewilderment. 

"  What  can  I  say  ?  How  do  you  wish  me  to 
answer?  " 

44  By  looking  into  your  own  heart  and  telling 
me  what  you  find  there.  Is  it  love  ?  Do  you 
even  feel  that  it  ever  might  be  love  *?  " 

44  How  can  I  tell  ?  Woman's  love  is  but  an 
echo,  and  her  heart  only  whispers  the  word  in 
answer  to  a  man's  voice." 

"The  man's  voice  is  speaking  now,  Eunice. 
It  says :  4 1  love  you.' " 

44  Are  you  sure  of  yourself — sure  that  no  other 
woman  rules  your  heart  *?  " 

44  Not  my  heart — I  see  clearly  now  that  it  is 
only  my  fancy  that  has  been  touched  before  now. 
My  heart  was  left  for  you.  For  the  first  time  I 
feel  that  I  have  reached  the  full  stature  of  man- 
hood and  learned  what  love  means.  I  have  met 
a  woman  who  can  enter  into  my  highest  hopes 
and  my  deepest  feelings.  I  love  you,  Eunice. 
Tell  me  that  you  love  me  too ! " 


216     FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

"  The  time  has  been  so  short ! " 

"  Short  ?    Not  if  you  count  it  by  heart-beats." 

"  No ;  but  short  to  forget  that  other  woman." 

"  Listen,  Eunice  !  I  admit  that  I  have  spent 
the  last  year  under  the  spell  of  a  woman  far 
different  from  you.  I  was  deceived, —  bitterly 
deceived, —  and  I  have  had  a  cruel  awakening. 
I  could  scarcely  have  borne  it,  I  think,  but  that 
just  when  my  grief  was  heaviest  and  my  need 
sorest,  you  appeared,  and  I  knew  that  my  dream 
of  perfect  womanhood  was  not  all  a  dream  —  that 
in  your  keeping  lay  peace." 

Eunice  laid  down  her  work,  folded  her  long 
white  hands  before  her,  and  sank  back.  Every 
line  of  her  figure  suggested  the  repose  for  which 
Walford's  soul  was  yearning.  His  pulses  throbbed, 
his  senses  swam,  he  felt  himself  dizzy  with  the 
wine  of  hope. 

"  Dearest ! "  he  said,  leaning  forward  and  sud- 
denly raising  the  hand  to  his  lips,  "  my  destiny 
lies  in  these  white  hands  of  yours.  Am  I  to  go 
alone  —  or  to  stay — with  you?" 

**  Stay — with  me ! "  whispered  Eunice. 

And  the  soul  of  Stuart  Walford  went  out  like 
the  flame  of  a  candle  in  the  wind. 


XIII 

THE    COMING    SHADOW 

"  Bfiad  and  deaf  that  we  are';  oh,  think  if  thou  yet  lore  anybody  tiring, 
wait  not  till  death  sweep  down  the  paltry  little  dust-clouds  and  idle  dissonances 
of  the  moment  and  all  be  at  last  so  mournfully  clear  and  beautiful  when  it  is 
too  late  I  " 

EORGE,  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  send 

for  your  father." 
"  Don't !     For  Heaven's  sake,  don't!  " 
As  he  spoke,  the  boy  raised  himself  from  the 
pillows  on  the  lounge  against  which  he  had  been 
leaning,  and  looked  pleadingly  at  Fleming. 

Fleming  laughed ;  but  there  was  a  catch  at  his 
throat.  He  had  grown  immensely  fond  of  George 
Newton.  We  love  people  more  for  what  we  are 
to  them  than  for  what  they  are  to  us ;  but  aside 
from  the  fact  that  he  had  been  good  to  the  boy  and 
felt  a  corresponding  glow  of  heart  toward  him, 
he  had  come  to  feel  a  distinct  interest  in  this 
idealistic,  inarticulate,  beauty-loving  nature  which 
could  only  feel,  and  so  rarely  succeeded  in  making 

itself  felt.    The  evident  bodily  frailness  and  inse- 

217 


218     FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

cure  tenure  of  life,  too,  lent  their  added  charm. 
The  death  of  a  youth  thrills  us  with  the  pathos 
of  the  unfulfilled,  and  Fleming's  tenderness  vi- 
brated more  and  more  to  these  minor  chords. 
He  did  not  dare  to  look  into  the  future.  Every 
week  was  forcing  home  upon  him  the  conviction 
that  George's  days  were  numbered,  and  he  could 
only  console  himself  with  the  reflection  that  they 
were  the  happiest  of  the  boy's  life. 

He  crushed  back  the  melancholy  which  weighed 
heavily  on  his  soul,  and  answered  George's  pro- 
test with  a  smile,  repeating : 

"  Yes,  I  shall  certainly  send  for  him.  I  shall 
tell  him  that  your  devotion  to  Miss  Yates  is  be- 
coming a  matter  of  public  notoriety  and  making 
the  Florentine  hair  to  stand  on  end,  that  you  took 
cold  the  other  day  walking  in  the  wind  to  the 
Mercato  Nuovo  to  buy  roses  for  your  inamorata, 
and  that,  in  short,  I  can't  manage  you,  and  he 
must  come  and  take  charge." 

"  Now,  Mr.  Fleming,  you  would  n't  joke  like 
that  —  not  with  Father  !  " 

"  See  here,  Master  George !  I  have  a  great 
respect  for  your  father,  and  being  of  a  weak  and 
impressionable  nature,  I  have  more  respect  than 
ever  since  he  has  taken  all  these  medals  and 
made  his  place  in  the  scientific  world;  but  I 
don't  know  that  he  has  yet  attained  that  awful 


THE  COMING   SHADOW        219 

height  of  greatness  where  it  is  blasphemy  to  joke 
with  him." 

"  That  is  n't  what  I  mean.  You  may  joke 
about  yourself  as  much  as  you  like,  but  don't 
say  anything  about  me.  I  would  n't  have  him 
come  on  my  account" 

"  But  he  is  in  London.  What  would  it  be  for 
him  to  run  down  to  Florence?  He  might  do 
that  just  to  see  the  pictures,  you  know,  not  to 
mention  such  a  trifling  matter  as  his  son." 

"  Oh,  he  would  n't  want  to  come, —  I  'm  sure 
he  would  n't, —  and  he  '11  be  no  end  put  out  at 
the  thought  of  coming  here.  He  grudges  every 
day  away  from  his  laboratory." 

"  Put  out ! "  exclaimed  Fleming,  his  irritation 
with  Newton  finding  its  way  to  the  surface  in 
spite  of  himself.  "  Put  out  by  being  sent  for  to 
look  after  his  boy  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Father  does  n't  care  much  about  me,  you 
know ;  we  were  never  chummy  in  the  way  you 
and  I  are." 

"  And  your  mother  —  were  you  and  she 
chums?" 

"  Well,  no.     Not  exactly." 

"  And  yet  you  are  anxious  to  go  home  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  I  want  to  sec  my  dog." 

44  But  you  can't  talk  music  to  your  dog." 

'*  Indeed  I  do  —  talk  to  him  by  the  hour  to- 


220     FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

gether,  and  play  to  him,  too.  Next  to  him, 
I  'd  rather  talk  to  you  than  to  any  one  in  the 
world." 

"  Except  Miss  Yates,"  interrupted  Fleming,  in 
a  mocking  voice. 

George  laughed;  but  the  flush  in  his  face 
deepened. 

"  Never  mind  about  her,"  he  said,  "  but  prom- 
ise me  you  won't  send  for  my  father.  You  may 
try  to  put  it  off  on  Miss  Yates,  but  I  know  why 
you  're  sending ;  and  there  5s  no  need,  really  there 
is  n't." 

"  Well,  well,  there  's  plenty  of  time  to  think 
it  over,  and  we  will  not  decide  anything  in  a 
hurry;  only  don't  get  excited,  old  man!  Put 
your  feet  up  —  so  —  and  I  '11  spread  the  rug 
over  them." 

"  What  a  duffer  a  man  is  at  taking  care  of  sick 
people ! "  Fleming  thought  as  he  folded  the  rug, 
which  suddenly  seemed  to  become  all  corners 
and  fringe. 

Some  one  knocked  at  the  door,  and  a  bell-boy 
caine  in,  bringing  a  tray  loaded  with  hothouse 
grapes  and  jonquils. 

"  For  Mr.  Newton." 

George  kicked  away  the  rug  and  jumped  up 
to  take  the  card,  but  his  face  fell  as  he  read  it. 
"  They  're  from  Mrs.  Blythe,"  he  said,  "  and  the 


THE   COMING  SHADOW        221 

card  's  partly  to  you.  It  asks  if  she  can  see  Mr. 
Fleming  at  the  door  of  the  hotel  for  a  moment." 

"  Yes,"  said  Fleming,  "  say  that  I  will  come 
down  at  once;  and,  George,  if  you  won't  be 
lonely  I  '11  turn  in  at  the  smoking-room  and  smoke 
my  cigar  before  I  come  up.  It  would  n't  do  to 
set  you  coughing  with  it  up  here." 

"All  right,"  George  answered  cheerfully. 
"Thank  Mrs.  Blythe  for  the  flowers  and  the 
grapes." 

"  And  shall  I  add  that  you  would  have  liked 
them  a  little  better  if  they  had  come  from  Miss 
Yates?" 

Fleming  did  not  wait  for  a  reply,  but  seized 
his  hat  and  made  his  way  with  rapid  strides  down 
the  stairs,  through  the  long  corridor,  and  out  into 
the  street,  bright  with  the  slant  light  of  the  setting 
sun. 

An  open  carriage  was  drawn  up  by  the  curb, 
and  Mrs.  Blythe  sat  in  it,  looking  absently  down 
the  street,  so  absently  that  she  started  when  Flem- 
ing spoke  her  name. 

"  I  have  come  to  inquire  for  George,"  she  said ; 
"  you  seemed  worried  about  him  the  other  night." 

"  How  did  you  know  that  ?  " 

"Oh,  I  saw  it  from  your  way  of  looking  at 
him.  I  've  been  thinking  about  him  since,  and 
last  night,  as  I  looked  down  on  the  mist  lying 


222     FOUR  ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

over  the  river,  I  decided  that  he  ought  not  to  be 
here  in  all  this  dampness." 

"  I  think  that  you  are  perfectly  right,"  said 
Fleming.  "George  has  grown  steadily  worse 
here,  and  I  should  have  taken  him  south  again 
before  this ;  but  we  came  here  to  consult  Dr. 
Branchi,  and  his  tests  and  diagnosis  take  time. 
As  soon  as  we  get  results  I  shall  write  to  the 
boy's  father,  for,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  don't  feel  will- 
ing to  take  the  responsibility  any  longer." 

"  I  should  n't  think  that  you  would,  certainly 
not  here  in  this  dismal  hotel.  And  all  that  you 
say  fits  in  with  my  plans.  I  want  you  to  bring 
George  up  to  the  villa  and  let  us  help  you  to 
take  care  of  him  till  his  father  comes,  at  any  rate, 
and  then  we  can  decide." 

Fleming  shook  his  head  with  emphasis;  but 
before  he  could  speak  Mrs.  Blythe  went  on: 
"  Now,  remember,  this  is  n't  an  invitation  to  you 
at  all,  except  as  George's  guardian.  It 's  to  him, 
and  you  have  no  right  to«  decline  it,  if  you  be- 
lieve that  the  high  and  dry  air  of  Fiesole  is  bet- 
ter for  him  than  the  dampness  of  this  malarious 
old  Lungarno.  We  have  a  room  facing  south 
and  opening  on  a  loggia  where  he  can  sit  in  the 
sun  all  day." 

Fleming  hesitated.  "  Oh,  we  could  not  —  we 
must  not !  "  he  exclaimed,  sorely  tempted.  "  It 


THE  COMING   SHADOW        223 

would  mean  such  a  lot  of  bother  for  you.     Why 
should  you  ?  " 

"  It  is  only  my  plain  duty,"  Anne  answered. 
Fleming  put  his  foot  up  on  the  step  and  leaned 
ngainst  the  coachman's  seat. 

"  Do  you  remember,"  he  said,  smiling,  "  a 
young  woman  who  told  me  a  year  ago  that  do- 
ing her  duty  meant  doing  what  did  n't  please  her 
in  order  that  some  one  else  might  do  what 
pleased  him,  and  that  in  the  end  there  was  no 
gain  in  social  economy  ?  " 

"  To  tell  the  truth,  it  was  not  exactly  duty 
that  brought  me." 
"What,  then?" 

"  The  reasons  are  personal  to  myself." 
"And  are  not  to  be  inquired  into1?" 
"  Precisely." 

"  Perhaps  I  could  guess.     May  I  ?  " 
"  No  —  yes  —  you  may  guess  three  times." 
"And  you  will  answer?" 
"  Three  times  —  no  more." 
"  Here  goes,  then :  It  is  a  penance  ?  " 
"  Not  at  all.     Is  n't  my  uncle  a  bishop  *?  " 
"  True.     I  had  n't  thought  of  that.      Indul- 
gences ought  to  come  more  easily.     But  I  have 
two    more    guesses.      Oh,    I    know :    You   are 
troubled   with  cats  at  the  villa,  and  you  wish 
George  to  play  his  violin  to  them. 


224     FOUR  ROADS  TO  PARADISE 

"  George  plays  very  well,  as  you  know." 

"  So  that  is  not  it,  and  I  have  only  one  guess 
left.  You  promised  to  answer  truly  *?  " 

Mrs.  Blythe  nodded,  though  she  kept  her  eyes 
fastened  to  the  gilt  buttons  on  the  back  of  the 
coachman's  coat. 

"  You  are  doing  it  because  you  think  I  am 
tired  and  you  know  I  am  a  duffer." 

No  answer. 

"  Is  that  it  ?  " 

Mrs.  Blythe  raised  her  parasol  to  shield  her 
eyes  from  the  sun. 

"  Is  that  it  ?  " 

"  Tell  Luigi  to  drive  on,  please.'* 

"  Luigi  will  not  move  at  present  except  over 
my  dead  body." 

"  Mr.  Fleming,  you  are  not  civil." 

*'  It  is  only  my  civility  which  prevents  my 
observing  that  you  are  not  truthful." 

"  Truthfulness,"  said  Mrs.  Blythe,  "  is  a  much 
overrated  virtue." 

"  I  thought  that  you  objected  to  the  absence 
of  it  in  Miss  Yates." 

"  It  is  a  small  nature  which  twits  people  with 
their  confidences." 

"  But  to  return  to  the  original  subject." 

"I  will  tell  you,  perhaps  —  at  the  villa.  I 
shall  send  the  carriage  at  noon  to-morrow." 


THE   COMING   SHADOW         225 

"Mrs.  Blythe— " 

The  Bishop  came  out  of  a  shop  close  at  hand 
and  stood  on  the  curb,  waiting  for  the  carriage. 
Anne  closed  her  parasol. 

"  Till  to-morrow,  then.  A  rrvederci!  Drive 
on,  Luigi." 

Fleming  withdrew  his  foot  from  the  step  of 
the  carriage.  Mrs.  Blythe  bowed.  The  driver 
cracked  his  whip,  and  the  carriage  rattled  down 
the  street.  Fleming  entered  the  smoking-room 
of  the  hotel,  seating  himself  by  a  window  which 
gave  a  view  of  the  open  square. 

He  drew  out  a  cigar  and  lighted  it;  but  it 
went  out  several  times,  because  he  was  too  ab- 
sent-minded to  keep  it  going.  The  sun  sank 
lower  and  lower,  and  darkness  grew  in  the  room. 
Darkness  grew  in  his  soul,  too.  He  blamed  him- 
self for  yielding  to  the  temptation  of  Mrs. 
Blythe's  invitation.  It  was  best  for  George,  of 
course;  but  some  other  way  might  have  been 
devised.  Here  he  was  deliberately  putting  him- 
self in  a  position  where  his  resolution  would  be 
tried  to  the  utmost,  and  he  had  come  to  a  time 
of  life  when  he  realized  that  the  prayer,  "  Lead 
us  not  into  temptation,"  was  no  vain  petition; 
that  nine  tenths  of  the  broken  vows,  the  falls 
from  purpose,  come  from  failure  to  make  the 
stand  soon  enough.  Well,  it  was  too  late  to 


226     FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

consider  all  that  now ;  and,  after  all,  it  was  only 
for  a  few  days. 

He  looked  out  of  the  window.  A  band  was 
playing  lively  airs  in  the  center  of  the  square. 
Then  the  retreat  sounded,  and  the  little  Italian 
soldiers  scurried  from  all  quarters  toward  the  bar- 
racks, leaving  the  square  empty  and  desolate  ex- 
cept where  the  moon,  rising  slowly  through  the 
translucent  dusk,  laid  her  pale  bars  of  light  across 
the  pavement.  It  grew  darker.  The  moon 
dappled  the  square  with  still  pools  of  light. 
The  bulk  of  the  houses  rose  black  against  them. 

There  are  some  temperaments  to  which  moon- 
light is  profoundly  depressing.  Fleming's  spirits 
sank  steadily  as  he  sat  gazing  into  r!  e  deserted 
square,  so  like  life  —  the  noise  and  mirth  and  hur- 
rying to  and  fro,  and  then  the  darkness  and  the  re- 
flection from  the  dead  planet,  type  of  the  future 
of  our  world. 

As  if  in  response  to  his  thoughts,  a  black-robed 
procession  bearing  torches  moved  slowly  through 
the  space,  and  Fleming  recognized  the  brothers 
of  the  Misericordia  on  their  way  to  fulfil  the  last 
sad  offices  for  the  dead.  The  sight  chimed  with 
his  mood.  Taking  up  his  hat,  he  passed  out  into 
the  street  and  followed  in  the  wake  of  the  funeral 
train  till  it  turned  a  corner  and  was  lost  in  the 
courtyard  of  a  palace. 


THE  COMING   SHADOW         227 

Fleming  stood  still,  with  uncovered  he:id. 
looking  after  it.  The  moon  shone  full  upon  his 
face  and  also  upon  a  man  on  the  other  side  of 
the  narrow  street.  It  was  Stuart  Walford. 

The  two  men  recognized  each  other  instantly. 
Walford  crossed  the  street.  Fleming  made  a 
motion  as  if  to  walk  on ;  Walford  took  his  arm, 
and  walked  on  with  him  toward  the  Ponte  Santa 
Trinita. 

"  There  is  something  I  wish  to  say  to  you,'* 
Walford  began  hesitatingly,  "and  I  don't  just 
know  how  to  say  it." 

"  So  many  things  are  better  left  unsaid,  don't 
you  think  *?  " 

"  Still  I  feel  as  if  I  ought  to  say  this." 

"  Very  well." 

"  It 's  about  what  we  were  talking  of  at  Mrs. 
Blythe's  musicale." 

"  About  Mrs.  Blythe  ?  " 

"  Yes,  about  Mrs.  Blythe.  It  was  all  a  mis- 
take. I  should  n't  want  you  to  go  on  believing 
a  mistake." 

"  I  was  in  no  danger.  I  knew  Mrs.  Blythe. 
But  you  —  how  did  you  discover  your  mistake  ? 
Who  told  you  that  it  was  not  true  ?  " 

"  She  told  me  herself." 

"You  asked  her?" 

Fleming's  tone  cut  like  a  whip-lash. 


228     FOUR  ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

Walford  answered  tremulously: 

"  No ;  I  did  n't  ask  her.  I  simply  handed  her 
a  letter  which  I  had  been  asked  to  hand  to  her. 
It  was  the  letter  which  accused  her." 

The  two  men  had  reached  the  bridge  and 
stopped,  facing  each  other.  Fleming  let  a  long 
pause  fall ;  then  he  said  slowly : 

"  Had  you  read  that  letter  ?  " 

Walford's  face  whitened  in  the  moonlight. 
He  half  turned,  and  leaning  on  the  railing  of  the 
bridge,  he  stared  at  the  sluggish  river,  gleaming 
in  the  moonlight,  dark  brown  in  the  shadow  of 
the  bank.  His  silence  pleaded  for  mercy,  but 
Fleming  was  relentless.  "You  had  read  the 
letter,  I  see,"  he  persisted.  "  Had  you  been 
asked  to  read  it  ?  " 

Walford  bent  his  face  till  it  was  quite  in 
shadow.  "  A  dying  woman  gave  it  to  me,"  he 
began. 

"  It  was  Renee  Jaudon,  I  suppose." 

"  Yes,  it  was.  She  sent  for  me  there  in  the 
hospital  when  she  was  dying.  She  gave  me  the 
letter,  and  she  said  she  trusted  me  with  it  fully 
and  entirely.  I  understood  that  she  trusted  me 
to  use  my  judgment  in  the  matter." 

"  Did  she  say  all  that,  or  did  she  only  say  that 
she  trusted  you  *?  " 

"  I  know  of  no  obligation  on  my  part,  Mr. 


THE   COMING   SHADOW        229 

Fleming,  to  submit  to  this  cross-examination  from 
you.  I  felt  that  I  owed  it  to  myself  as  a  gentle- 
man to  leave  you  under  no  misapprehension  as 
to  Mrs.  Blythe.  There  my  duty  ends." 

Fleming  appeared  scarcely  to  hear  him. 
"  Renee  Jaudon  broke  her  faith  with  us,"  he 
said  calmly,  "and  you  broke  your  faith  with 
her.  I  am  not  surprised  in  either  case.  Good 
night,  Mr.  Walford." 

Fleming  took  off  his  hat  with  that  formal 
courtesy  which  men  assume  to  protect  them- 
selves from  intimacy,  and  turning  on  his  heel,  he 
strode  away  in  the  direction  of  the  hotel,  mutter- 
ing under  his  breath  a  single  word,  "Cad !" 

Blair  Fleming  passed  for  a  good-natured  man. 
In  reality  he  was  capable  of  such  rage  as  few 
men  know;  but  he  had  long  ago  learned  that 
he  could  not  afford  to  let  it  get  beyond  his  lips. 
Consequently  not  many  of  those  who  knew 
him  were  aware  of  its  heights  and  depths.  To- 
night, however,  the  flood-gates  were  open,  and  to 
himself  he  gave  free  vent  to  the  rush  of  indig- 
nant contempt  in  his  soul. 

"  Anne  Blythe  in  love  with  such  a  thing  as 
that!"  he  exclaimed  aloud,  as  he  strode  solitary 
under  the  shadow  of  the  wide-corniced  buildings 
and  recalled  Mrs.  Blythe's  smiling  confession  to 
him  at  the  musicale.  "In  love  with  him!  I  'd 


230     FOUR  ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

rather  see  her  married  to  Tom  Yates.  Vulgarian 
as  he  is,  he  's  a  man  at  least,  and  an  honest  one. 
But  to  the  end  of  the  chapter  women  will  go  on 
falling  in  love  with  these  sentimentalists  in  spite 
of  all  that  other  men  can  say  or  do." 

Fleming  rushed  along  faster  and  faster,  his 
hands  thrust  deep  in  the  pockets  of  his  coat,  his 
head  thrown  back,  and  his  eyes  fixed  on  the 
stars,  which  seemed  to  twinkle  from  over  the 
house-tops  with  such  friendly  sympathy  that  he 
blurted  his  heart  out  to  them,  and  they  looked 
down  as  patiently  as  though  no  lover  had  ever 
before  sought  their  consolation  or  poured  out 
doubts  and  despair  and  anger  and  love  under 
their  kindly  light. 

In  his  absorption  Fleming  twice  passed  the 
door  of  his  hotel;  but  on  reaching  it  the  third 
time  he  turned  in.  Passing  the  door  of  the 
smoking-room,  he  saw  it  lighted,  and  noticed  a 
copy  of  the  London  "  Times  "  lying  on  the  table. 
He  went  in  and  took  it  up,  thinking  that  he  might 
chance  upon  Newton's  name.  He  was  not  dis- 
appointed. Under  the  heading  of  "An  American 
Honored  by  Scientists  "  he  saw  an  account  of  a 
dinner  to  be  given  to  Newton  at  the  Hotel  Cecil 
on  the  2Oth  —  the  2oth,  and  this  was  the  14th. 
That  meant  that  he  must  wait  until  the  function 
was  over. 


THE   COMING   SHADOW        231 

And  yet,  a  week  at  Mrs.  Blythe's,  in  her  pres- 
ence daily  and  with  the  easy  familiarity  of  a 
household  guest  —  could  he  carry  it  through,  he 
wondered,  carry  it  through  and  make  no  sign  ? 

"Well,  George,"  he  said  to  himself,  as  he 
slowly  mounted  the  steps,  **  I  'd  do  a  good  deal 
for  you ;  but  this  is  the  toughest  thing  that  could 
be  asked  of  me." 


XIV 

"ONE  DESTROYED  THE  YOUNG  PLANTS" 

"  Soon  or  late,  sardonic  Fate 

With  man  against  himself  conspires  j 

Puts  on  the  mask  of  his  desires : 
Up  the  steps  of  Time  elate 

Leads  him  blinded  with  his  pride, 
And  gathering,  as  he  goes  along, 

The  fuel  of  his  suicide." 

'  /%  FTER  the  dinner  given  in  his  honor  at  the 
jfTL  Cecil  by  a  distinguished  group  of  the 
Royal  Society,  Dr.  Newton  rose  to  respond  to 
the  following  toast : 

"  To  our  -Guest,  the  Representative  of  Amer- 
ican Scientists. 

'  Men  our  brothers,  men  the  workers,  ever  seeking  something 
new.* 

"I  have  to  thank  you,  gentlemen,"  he  said, 
"for  two  things  in  connection  with  this  toast: 
first,  for  selecting  the  line  from  the  only  poem 
with  which  I  am  familiar;  and  next,  for  giving 
me  so  good  a  text  for  the  things  I  should  like  to 
say: 

232 


"THE  YOUNG   PLANTS"        233 

"  *  Brothers '  and  •  workers'  If  there  is  any  set 
of  men  on  God's  earth  to  whom  these  words  are 
applicable,  it  is  the  men  of  science.  They  of  all 
professions  have  done  most  to  make  life  contribu- 
tive  rather  than  competitive.  Whatever  one  has 
learned  has  been  fully  laid  open  for  the  teaching 
and  advancement  of  the  rest ;  whatever  one  ac- 
complishes is  rejoiced  in  by  all,  and  in  return 
there  is  no  reward  to  which  the  scientist  looks 
with  such  eagerness  as  to  the  approval  of  other 
scientists. 

"  As  one  of  your  most  distinguished  members 
once  said  :  '  The  sole  order  of  nobility  which,  in 
my  judgment,  becomes  a  philosopher  is  the  rank 
which  he  holds  in  the  estimation  of  his  fellow- 
workers,  who  are  the  only  competent  judges  in 
such  matters.' 

"  With  this  in  mind,  you  will  have  no  diffi- 
culty in  understanding  the  depth  of  my  gratitude 
and  my  appreciation  of  such  a  tribute  as  this  to 
me,  and  through  me  to  my  American  fellow- 
workers." 

From  this  beginning  the  speaker  went  on  to 
indicate  the  lines  along  which  America  was 
likely  to  make  her  special  contribution  to  scien- 
tific work,  the  vast  fields  of  observation  offered 
by  her  great  West,  the  prodigious  sums  of  money 
poured  into  her  lap  to  support  scientific  investi- 

15 


234    FOUR  ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

gation  and  exploration,  the  growing  number  of 
institutions  existing  for  special  research,  and 
finally  the  resistless  energy  which  had  flooded 
the  country  with  material  wealth  and  now  was 
turning  its  force  into  the  channels  dug  for  it  by 
the  scientific  workers  of  the  Old  World,  men  to 
whom  Americans  were  in  no  danger  of  forgetting 
their  indebtedness.  They  only  asked  the  privi- 
lege of  repaying  some  fragment  of  the  debt  by 
their  own  contribution. 

"  I  profoundly  hope,"  he  ended,  "  that  the 
years  to  come  may  prove  our  right  to  add  the 
other  line  of  the  couplet  from  which  you  quote : 

'  That  which  they  have  done  but  earnest  of  the  things  that 
they  shall  do.'  " 

Newton  had  a  confused  sense  of  clapping  and 
cheering  as  he  took  his  seat,  but  he  was  too 
much  bewildered  by  the  scene  around  him  to 
realize  it  fully.  The  electric  lights  struck  sharply 
in  his  eyes  and  dazzled  him,  the  fumes  of  the 
wine  seemed  to  go  to  his  brain. 

Could  this  be  really  he,  Maxwell  Newton, 
whose  praises  were  being  sounded  by  speaker 
after  speaker"?  And  the  speakers  themselves, 
could  they  be  live  men,  and  not  the  frontispieces 
of  the  books  which  lined  his  library  shelves  at 
home?  Was  it  possible  that  the  toast-master 


"THE   YOUNG   PLANTS"         235 

was  that  leader  of  English  scientific  thought 
whom  he  had  dreamed  of  meeting  some  day? 
that  the  man  on  the  right,  shaking  him  by  the 
hand,  was  the  Sir  John  Larned,  F.R.S.,  whose 
book  on  the  "  Genesis  of  Instinct "  had  first 
turned  his  thoughts  to  the  theme  which  had 
grown  into  his  life-work  *? 

The  first  volume  of  Newton's  work  on  Cellu- 
lar Psychology  had  been  published  only  a  little 
more  than  three  months,  and  already  he  found 
himself  a  marked  man. 

His  paper  on  "  ^Esthesis  and  Tropesis  in  the 
Atom  "  had  carried  off  the  honors  of  the  meet- 
ing of  the  Association  for  Scientific  Research 
yesterday.  To-night  at  the  dinner  it  had  been 
the  topic  most  widely  and  hotly  discussed,  and 
he  who  had  been  a  solitary  worker  felt  for  the 
first  time  the  electric  current  which  runs  through 
such  a  gathering,  quickening  every  fiber  of  the 
mind,  raising  every  faculty  to  its  highest  power, 
making  the  unattainable  the  possible,  and  the 
difficult  the  desirable. 

Moreover,  in  this  company  Newton  had  known 
the  crowning  satisfaction  of  finding  himself  "  not 
least,  but  honored  of  them  all." 

He  wore  the  "  invidious  purple  "  of  fame  with 
a  pride  far  above  the  cheap  gratification  of  van- 
ity, rather  with  a  high  sense  of  responsibility  and 


236     FOUR  ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

the  thrill  of  an  immense  impetus  to  cany  forward 
the  work  which  brought  such  rewards.  He  was 
not  yet  fifty.  Twenty  years  of  splendid  activity 
should  lie  before  him.  Life  opened  out  large 
and  luminous. 

The  elation  was  still  upon  him  when  the  din- 
ner was  over  and  the  party  broke  up.  He  and 
Lamed  came  out  of  the  hotel  together,  and  stood 
for  an  instant  on  the  steps  lighting  their  cigars, 
sharply  outlined  against  the  light  which  streamed 
through  the  plate-glass  of  the  doors  behind  them. 

"A  foggy  night,"  said  Newton,  peering  out 
toward  the  Strand  through  the  gray  mist. 

44  Yes,  foggy  even  for  London,"  Lamed  an- 
swered. 

The  man  at  the  entrance  touched  his  hat  and 
"  'oped  they  'd  get  safe  'ome,  sirs." 

"  He  evidently  doubts  our  ability  to  take  care 
of  ourselves  after  a  dinner,"  said  Larned.  "  Shall 
we  have  this  cab  *?  " 

"  Thanks !  But  if  you  'd  as  lief,  I  'd  rather 
walk,"  Newton  answered ;  "  I  shall  sleep  better 
to  put  in  a  bit  of  exercise  between  that  dinner 
and  bed." 

"  It  was  a  great  ovation,"  said  Larned,  cor- 
dially, "  but  disappointing  as  these  big  public  af- 
fairs always  are  from  the  point  of  talk.  I  'd  like 
it  if  you  would  breakfast  with  me  at  the  club 


"THE   YOUNG  PLANTS"        237 

to-morrow  at  twelve,  and  we  '11  get  hold  of 
two  or  three  other  men  who  will  be  specially 
interested  to  talk  over  your  paper.  By  the  way, 
you  will  publish  it,  of  course." 

"  I  think  not  —  certainly  not  at  present,"  New- 
ton answered.  *4  It  is  in  a  sense  copyrighted  by 
this  semi-public  reading,  and  before  publishing 
it  I  shall  spend  two  or  three  years  in  verifying 
and  qualifying.  It  is  a  weakness  of  my  coun- 
trymen to  rush  into  print  with  hal£digested 
theories." 

"  Not  a  weakness  of  yours ! "  Lamed  ex- 
claimed, with  enthusiasm;  "your  work  has  round- 
ness, solidity,  force." 

"  Thank  you ;  there  is  nothing  I  would  rather 
hear  said  of  it ;  but  I  feel  its  shortcomings.  We 
are  babies  in  science  compared  with  you  fellows 
over  here  ;  but  I  am  learning  something  of  your 
secret  of  concentration  and  limitation.  I  have 
made  up  my  mind  to  devote  the  rest  of  my  life 
to  the  study  of  psychoplasm." 

Larned  murmured  something  about  "  being  on 
your  guard  against  narrowing  influences." 

"  Narrowing,  my  dear  Sir  John !  Why,  there 
is  nothing  between  heaven  and  hell  toward  which 
it  does  not  reach  out.  Life  and  death  and  im- 
mortality are  involved  in  the  question  of  cellular 
psychic  activities.  The  only  trouble  is  that  so 


238     FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

little  can  be  done  toward  solving  the  problems 
in  a  single  lifetime  ;  —  but  I  have  a  son." 

"  Indeed  ! " 

"  Yes,  a  boy  of  sixteen.  I  intend  that  he  shall 
follow  in  my  footsteps,  and  I  hope  that  he  will 
go  much  further.  He  should,  with  all  that  I 
can  teach  him  and  with  the  facilities  which  I 
shall  be  able  to  place  at  his  command." 

"  And  the  boy  —  is  he  interested  to  pursue 
this  branch  of  work  ?  " 

It  was  the  same  question  which  Fleming  had 
asked,  and  its  iteration  irritated  Newton's  over- 
strung nerves.  "  It  must  interest  him.  It  shall ! " 
he  went  on  insistently.  "  What  in  the  world  is 
really  worth  living  for  in  comparison  with  such 
work  as  mine  ?  " 

"  It  is  a  great  work.  I  'm  not  denying  that. 
Still  I  don't  believe  in  forcing  any  one  into  it. 
I  have  five  boys  of  my  own.  Not  one  of  them 
cares  a  penny  about  my  interests,  and  they  all 
hate  the  sight  of  my  laboratory." 

"  And  you  don't  insist  upon  it  *?  " 

"  Not  I.  If  the  beggars  prefer  boating  and 
cricket,  why,  let  them.  I  took  the  responsibility 
of  bringing  them  into  the  world,  and  the  least  I 
can  do,  now  that  they  are  here,  is  to  give  them  a 
happy  boyhood.  At  least,  that  is  the  way  I  look 
at  it." 


"THE  YOUNG   PLANTS"        239 

"  After  all,"  said  Newton,  "  what  we  or  our 
children  accomplish  amounts  to  very  little.  The 
individual  is  only  the  fly  on  the  chariot-wheel. 
All  we  can  say  is  that  it  is  better  to  be  the  fly  on 
the  wheel  than  the  log  that  stops  its  progress 
even  for  an  instant." 

"  Yes,"  assented  Lamed ;  "  there  is  a  kind  of 
dizzy  delight  in  feeling  the  motion  of  the  wheel 
under  us.  But,  after  all,  it  is  only  one  of  the 
pleasures  of  life  !  " 

Newton  threw  open  his  coat  and  took  in  a 
deep  breath  of  the  night  air. 

"  This  sort  of  thing  makes  me  homesick  for 
my  laboratory,"  he  said.  "  All  these  social  func- 
tions are  pleasant  and  stimulating;  but,  for  the 
pure  joy  of  living,  give  me  the  solitude  of  the 
study,  when  there  is  no  one  to  disturb  you,  and 
you  can  go  nosing  about  among  the  secrets 
which  nature  shuts  up  in  her  closets.  I  can't 
imagine  anything  making  a  man  really  unhappy 
while  he  has  his  work." 

"  I  can,"  Larned  began ;  but  Newton  broke 
in:  "No!  Science  is  all-satisfying  —  all-absorb- 
ing. We  must  look  to  her  for  the  joys  which 
men  used  to  find  in  religion." 

Larned  shook  his  head  doubtfully. 

"  I  question,"  he  said,  "  whether  science  can 
ever  supply  us  with  all-sufficing  happiness,  be- 


240     FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

cause  she  makes  no  response  to  the  emotions. 
She  is  a  Galatea  for  whom  we  may  break  our 
hearts,  but  we  cannot  make  her  feel.  She  has 
no  tenderness  for  humanity,  let  them  slave  as 
they  will  in  her  service." 

"  But  the  service,  man !  The  service  is  the 
reward  and  the  satisfaction  and  the  glory.  For 
myself  I  ask  nothing  beyond.  It  suffices.  These 
are  my  lodgings,"  he  added,  as  they  stopped 
before  a  red  brick  house  with  white  trimmings. 
"  Is  it  too  late  to  ask  you  to  come  in  ?  Good 
night,  then." 

"  Good  night.  And  I  will  look  for  you  at 
twelve  to-morrow  at  the  club." 

Newton  went  up  the  steps  with  the  lightness 
which  is  born  of  elation  and  simulates  youth. 
He  turned  the  key  in  the  door  of  his  room  and 
entered.  Sardonic  fate  gave  no  warning  of  what 
awaited  him  within. 

The  landlady  had  looked  after  his  comfort. 
A  glowing  bed  of  coals  freshly  raked  lay  in  the 
grate,  and  a  kettle  simmered  on  the  hob.  New- 
ton warmed  his  hands  before  the  fire  for  a  mo- 
ment, then  went  to  the  closet,  brought  out  a  gray 
earthenware  jug,  poured  a  portion  of  whisky  into 
a  tumbler,  and  added  hot  water  from  the  kettle. 

He  sat  down  in  an  apoplectic  chair,  fatly 
cushioned,  and  covered  in  purple-red  reps.  The 


"THE  YOUNG   PLANTS"         241 

glass  stood  on  the  table  beside  him,  and  as  he 
lifted  it  he  saw  for  the  first  time  a  pile  of  enve- 
lopes leaning  against  the  lamp.  The  upper  one 
bore  an  American  stamp.  It  was  in  his  wife's 
handwriting,  and  he  opened  it  first,  as  in  duty 
bound. 

Mrs.  Newton  wrote  for  the  pleasure  of  the 
sender  rather  than  the  receiver  of  the  letter,  and 
she  was  not  skilled  in  the  art  of  selection.  All 
the  events  of  the  day  had  equal  value  in  her 
eyes,  and  found  equal  prominence  on  the  pages 
traced  with  her  large  round  characters.  The 
vines  had  been  planted,  but  the  gardener  was  ter- 
ribly upset  because  the  order  came  so  late,  and 
she  was  sure  she  did  not  know  what  she  could 
have  done  about  it.  How  could  she  let  him 
know  any  earlier,  when  Newton  would  not  an- 
swer the  questions  about  it  in  his  last  letter,  and 
did  he  think  it  was  quite  fair,  when  she  was 
taking  all  the  trouble,  that  he  should  n't  even 
answer  a  simple  question? 

Newton's  eye  traveled  rapidly  over  the  page. 
One  can  read  rapidly  when  he  is  not  afraid  of 
missing  anything.  On  the  next  sheet  it  tran- 
spired that  the  dog  had  caught  a  hedgehog  and 
that  some  of  the  quills  were  still  lodged  in  the 
roof  of  his  mouth.  She  wished  that  her  husband 
would  ask  some  of  the  scientific  gentlemen  he 


242     FOUR  ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

was  meeting  what  would  be  the  best  lotion  for  a 
dog's  mouth.  The  carpets  ought  to  be  taken  up 
and  beaten ;  but  she  had  decided  to  wait  till  fall 
and  send  them  to  the  Steam  Cleaning  Company. 
She  missed  George  and  was  glad  that  Newton 
was  having  such  a  good  time  in  London.  For 
herself,  she  preferred  America.  Europeans  all 
took  their  breakfast  in  bed  and  had  other  untidy 
habits,  and  she  was  his  affectionate  wife,  Ida 
Wilkins  Newton. 

When  Newton  had  finished  reading  the  letter, 
he  folded  it  neatly,  returned  it  to  the  envelope, 
and  laid  it  on  the  bed  of  coals,  where  it  turned 
bright  for  a  time,  and  then  reverted  to  its  original 
dullness.  Newton  had  never  acquired  the  habit 
of  preserving  his  wife's  letters. 

Having  disposed  of  this,  he  looked  over  the 
other  envelopes  in  the  pile,  and  after  sorting  out 
and  putting  aside  an  unimportant  half-dozen,  he 
took  up  a  square  one,  broke  the  seal,  then  drew 
the  lamp  nearer,  and  settled  back  in  his  chair  as 
he  unfolded  the  sheet  of  paper —  "  the  fuel  of  his 
suicide."  The  letter  was  from  Fleming. 

"  DEAR  NEWTON  [it  ran] :  I  hate  to  break  in 
upon  your  gala  week  there  in  London  with  bad 
tidings,  but  they  won't  keep.  I  am  afraid  that 
I  have  held  my  tongue  too  long.  George  seemed 


"THE   YOUNG   PLANTS"        243 

so  much  better  while  we  were  in  Naples  that  I 
thought  the  turn  for  the  better  had  come.  Then 
we  came  up  to  Rome,  and  something  went  wrong. 
We  had  sunny  rooms,  and  never  went  out  at 
night;  but  in  spite  of  all,  the  cough  came  back, 
and  things  have  gone  from  bad  to  worse.  We 
hurried  on  to  Florence  to  see  Dr.  Branchi,  who 
withheld  his  verdict  till  to-day.  When  I  saw 
him  this  morning  he  shook  his  head  and  said  that 
he  thought  the  boy's  father  should  be  notified. 
Of  course  we  all  hope  that  things  may  turn  out 
brighter  than  they  look  just  now.  George  him- 
self is  hopeful,  talks  confidently  of  going  home, 
and  would  by  no  means  forgive  me  if  he  knew 
that  I  was  writing  to  you.  Perhaps  when 
you  come  you  will  find  him  so  much  better 
that  you  will  fall  on  me  with  deserved  impre- 
cations for  giving  you  an  unnecessary  fright; 
if  not—" 

Here  the  letter  ended  abruptly,  as  if  the  writer 
had  been  suddenly  called  away  and  only  took 
time,  on  returning  to  his  writing,  to  scrawl 
"  Blair  Fleming  "  at  the  end,  followed  by  a  hasty 
postscript : 

"The  doctor  thinks  you  'd  .better  come  at 
once." 


244      FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

When  he  had  finished  reading,  Newton  turned 
the  page  and  began  again,  forcing  himself  to  take 
in  the  meaning  of  the  words  and  the  weightier 
meaning  that  lay  between  the  words;  then  he 
laid  the  letter  on  the  table,  and  smoothed  it 
out  with  trembling  fingers.  As  he  sank  back, 
his  face  showed  drawn  and  pallid  against  the 
purple-red  of  the  chair.  His  eyes  were  fixed 
upon  the  graying  ashes  in  the  grate;  but  they 
saw  nothing. 

So  this  was  the  end.  He  seemed  to  have 
known  it  all  along  now.  In  a  vault  of  his 
subliminal  consciousness  this  ghost  had  been 
shut  up;  now  it  had  burst  its  cerements  and 
would  not  down.  No,  never  again  !  —  Doomed! 

"By  that  one  word  hitting  the  center  of  a  boundless  sorrow." 

George  was  doomed!  He  could  not  quite  take 
it  in  yet;  his  mind  felt  too  numb  to  grasp  it; 
but  he  knew  that  it  was  so.  With  the  accept- 
ance of  the  fact  he  seemed  to  feel  the  clods  of 
the  grave  falling  on  himself.  He  had  accepted 
long  ago  with  calmness  the  relinquishment  of 
individual  immortality;  but  all  the  more  he  had 
clung  to  the  idea  of  race-perpetuation  and  the 
continuance  by  one  of  his  line  of  the  work  which 
he  had  begun.  This  alone  seemed  to  make  it 


"THE  YOUNG   PLANTS"       245 

worth  while  by  lending  a  semblance  of  perma- 
nence to  what  was  otherwise  but  the  shadow  of  a 
moth's  wing  outlined  for  a  moment  against  the 
light. 

George  doomed!  Suddenly  a  rush  of  human  ten- 
derness drove  out  all  abstract  reasoning  His  boy 
lost,  gone  forever,  perhaps  even  now  while  he  sat 
passive  there  in  his  arm-chair.  Unconciously 
his  lowered  eyes  fell  upon  the  decoration  on  his 
coat.  How  full  of  meaning  it  had  been  but  an 
hour  ago !  How  empty  now !  He  was  a  physi- 
cian and  had  not  been  able  to  save  his  own  child ! 
A  wave  of  remorse  swept  over  the  man  and  bur- 
ied him  in  its  bitter  depths.  Alas !  it  was  not 
skill  that  had  been  lacking,  but  will.  His  life 
had  made  its  own  channels  and  would  not  let  it- 
self be  diverted  by  an  inch.  He  had  meant  that 
his  son's  life,  too,  should  be  merged  in  the  same 
current  and  swell  its  volume  before  it  reached 
the  sea.  He  had  neglected  the  boy.  He  had 
shut  his  eyes  to  danger  until  it  was  too  late  —  too 
late  !  The  thought  stung  him  beyond  endurance. 
He  rose  hastily,  and  unpinning  the  decoration 
from  his  breast,  held  it  in  his  hand  over  the  table, 
where  the  light  of  the  lamp  fell  full  upon  its 
glittering  circle.  There  it  lay  —  the  symbol  of 
the  success  for  which  he  had  sacrificed  every- 
thing, which  had  seemed  so  tangible,  so  full,  so 


246     FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

satisfying,  and  now  was  turned  to  a  child's  toy 
in  his  hand.  Work  and  fame  he  had  coveted 
for  his  portion,  and  they  had  fallen  to  his  share 
in  abundance,  yet  hope  lay  dead  in  his  heart. 
What  was  it  all  worth  to  him  now  *?  His  son, 
his  only  son,  was  the  sacrifice. 

The  twenty  years  of  splendid  activity  which 
had  loomed  glorious  before  him  looked  now  like 
a  twenty-mile  pilgrimage,  each  mile  marked  by 
a  gravestone. 

The  clock  on  the  mantel  ticked  dully  on,  then 
gathered  itself  with  a  whirring  effort,  struck  three, 
and  stopped. 


XV 

ON    THE    TERRACE 

"  There  is  a  war  against  ourselves  going  on  within  every  one  of  M." 

GEORGE  NEWTON  was  better;  that  is, 
he  was  experiencing  one  of  those  rallies 
which  elate  the  patient  and  torture  the  onlookers 
with  a  renewal  of  their  forsworn  hope.  All  day 
the  boy  had  been  at  ease  and  happy,  and  as  Mrs. 
Blythe,  with  the  Bishop  and  Fleming,  sat  down 
to  dinner,  the  strains  of  his  violin  floated  down 
to  them  from  the  room  above. 

It  was  a  somewhat  somber  party  which  gathered 
round  the  table,  Anne's  black  lace  gown  affording 
no  relief  to  the  dullness  of  the  men's  dress.  But  as 
if  to  balance  their  somber  habit,  the  table  at  which 
they  sat  burgeoned  and  bloomed  with  color. 
Candelabra  of  Venice  glass  held  pink  lights, 
which  duplicated  themselves  in  the  cluster  of 
roses  in  the  center.  Plates  of  Ginori  ware 
blended  their  cream  and  orange  and  blue,  and 
wine-glasses  held  up  by  opalescent  dragons  bub- 
bled with  their  amber  burden. 

24? 


248     FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

"  George  is  certainly  better,"  said  the  Bishop. 

"He  seems  better.  I  am  glad  to  have  his 
father  find  him  so  when  he  comes,"  Fleming 
answered. 

"  Well,  for  my  part,"  Anne  answered,  "  I  am 
not  at  all  concerned  about  Mr.  Newton's  feelings. 
They  do  not  seem  to  be  of  a  particularly  tender 
variety,  and  I  don't  see  why  we  should  wish  to 
spare  him  his  share  of  the  anxiety  that  we  have 
all  been  going  through." 

"  Newton  has  feelings,  plenty  of  them,"  expos- 
tulated Fleming,  who  made  a  fetish  of  loyalty  to 
his  friends,  "  but  they  have  had  no  chance  to  de- 
velop. His  devotion  to  science  has  been  like  a 
prairie  fire,  sweeping  everything  before  it  and 
killing  off  all  the  domestic  affections. — You  are 
smiling,  Mrs.  Blythe." 

"  Was  I  ?     Yes,  I  believe  I  was." 

"  At  me,  perhaps." 

"  Why,  now  that  you  mention  it,  I  think  it 
must  have  been  at  you." 

"  Was  my  absurdity  general  or  particular  ?  " 

"  Oh,  it  was  the  phrase  *  domestic  affections ' 
which  struck  me  as  funny  coming  from  you. 
You  always  seem  so  —  so  detached.  •  I  think  of 
you  as  a  pendulum  swinging  between  your  club 
and  your  office." 

"A  pendulum !   Is  that  a  desirable  thing  to  be?" 


ON  THE   TERRACE  249 

"  Evidently/'  Mrs.  Blythe  answered,  still  smil- 
ing, when  a  cough  faintly  heard  made  Fleming 
start  from  his  chair;  but  the  Bishop  stretched 
out  a  detaining  hand. 

"Giulio  is  with  him.  He  will  call  you  if  you 
are  needed." 

"  Yes,"  added  Anne,  "  and  the  boy  has  seemed 
so  well  all  day !  " 

"  You  think  him  better,  honestly  ?  " 

"  Don't  you  ?  " 

"  I  wish  I  dared  to." 

"  What  a  coward  you  are  in  hoping ! " 

Anne  smiled  at  him  as  she  spoke,  and  he  an- 
swered her  with  a  look.  To  the  Bishop  he  said : 

"  My  reason  tells  me  that  I  ought  not  to  wish 
George  to  come  back  to  that  invalidism  which  is 
all  that  the  poor  boy  could  hope  for  —  that  half- 
health  which  brings  duties  and  denies  strength  to 
meet  them." 

"But,"  said  Anne,  determined  to  break  up 
Fleming's  despondency,  "think  how  much  of 
the  world's  work  has  been  done  by  invalids!  If 
I  ever  lose  my  health,  I  shall  flaunt  my  invalid- 
ism  in  the  face  of  the  world  as  a  badge  of 
distinction.  I  shall  adopt  a  coat  of  arms  — 
a  hot-water  bottle  couchant  and  a  plaster 
rampant,  quartered  with  a  mortar  and  pestle, 
and  for  a  motto  —  quick  —  give  me  a  motto, 


16 


250     FOUR  ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

uncle  —  what 's  the  Latin  for  *  Grin  and  bear 
it'?" 

" Ridete  et sursum  corda" suggested  the  Bishop. 
Then  they  all  laughed  and  Anne  had  succeeded 
in  her  purpose. 

**  Think  of  the  pedigree  of  invalidism !  What 
an  aristocracy  we  could  select  from  our  invalid 
ancestors  ! "  the  Bishop  continued. 

"  Yes,"  Fleming  assented ;  "  we  might  have 
Csesar  and  Napoleon  for  rulers  and  Hood  and 
Heine  for  their  jesters. —  Heine,  there  's  an  in- 
valid hero  for  you!  —  Do  you  think,  Bishop,  if 
you  were  given  your  choice,  you  would  rather  be 
a  healthy,  hearty,  full-blooded  day-laborer  or  a 
Heine  in  his  mattress-grave  *?  " 

"  Heine  !  "  said  the  Bishop ;  "  without  a  mo- 
ment's hesitation  I  should  say  Heine.  Why,  of 
course;  there  would  be  the  lucid  intervals,  you 
see,  when  pain  relaxed  its  grasp,  and  these  would 
offset  years  of  stolid  physical  comfort.  The 
mind  must  dominate  the  body." 

"  But  then,"  ventured  Fleming,  with  his  char- 
acteristic smile,  which  never  failed  to  dislodge 
his  glasses,  "  you  must  not  forget  that  the  laborer 
would  probably  stand  a  better  chance  of  heaven. 
Your  profession  binds  you,  I  suppose,  to  place 
soul  as  far  above  mind  as  you  place  mind  above 
body." 


ON  THE   TERRACE  251 

"  H'm  ! "  said  the  Bishop,  lifting  his  wine-glass, 
and  looking  at  the  light  through  it  with  half-shut 
eyes  and  head  a  little  on  one  side.  "  Socially 
the  virtues  are  everything;  sociologically  they 
are  not.  History  asks  not,  was  a  man  impec- 
cable, but  was  he  imperial  —  what  did  he  do? 
Napoleon  is  a  code  and  a  unified  France.  Heine 
is  no  longer  a  libertine  and  a  scoffer;  he  is  a 
bundle  of  lyrics  and  epigrams." 

"Cleverly  evaded,  but  not  answered,"  said 
Fleming  to  himself,  and  he  resolved  to  prod  the 
Bishop  a  little  further. 

"  You  think,  then,  that  a  man  may  ignore  his 
private  morality  if  he  sees  his  way  to  accomplish- 
ing some  marked  public  service  —  that  genius 
supersedes  the  decalogue." 

"  How  do  you  know  that  I  think  so  ?  I 
have  n't  said  so." 

"  Excuse  me,"  said  Fleming ;  "  I  thought  it 
was  the  inevitable  inference  from  your  last  re- 
mark." 

The  Bishop,  thus  brought  to  bay,  adopted  the 
oblique  method  of  defense  and  attack  combined. 

"  You  see,  Anne,"  he  said,  turning  to  Mrs. 
Blythe,  "  Mr.  Fleming  would  rob  conversation 
of  its  delightful  irresponsibility,  and  substitute  a 
series  of  just  and  dreary  observations  by  intro- 
ducing legal  methods  into  social  intercourse. 


252      FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

He  butchers  the  half-truth  to  make  a  legal  holi- 
day." 

"  Yes,  uncle,  and  the  half-truth  is  very  agree- 
able, is  n't  it  ?  We  feel  so  clever  in  supplying 
the  other  half!  Whereas  a  whole  truth  bowls  us 
over  and  leaves  us  no  recourse  but  tame  acqui- 
escence, or  eccentric  defiance  of  the  obvious. 
When  you  lawyers  kill  the  half-truth,  Mr.  Flem- 
ing, you  kill  conversation." 

"  Now,  Mrs.  Blythe !  "  exclaimed  Fleming, 
with  deprecating  eyebrows,  "have  I  deserved 
this  —  to  be  called  a  prig  under  guise  of  being 
called  a  lawyer,  a  soft  impeachment  which  I  can- 
not deny  *?  " 

Before  Anne  could  reply,  the  Bishop,  who  was 
quite  satisfied  to  slip  out  so  easily  from  the  con- 
versational coil  in  which  he  had  found  himself 
entangled,  blandly  suggested  coffee  on  the  ter- 
race. 

"  I  must  go  back  to  George,"  said  Fleming, 
with  a  sting  of  compunction. 

"  No,"  the  Bishop  said,  rising;  "  I  shall  sit  with 
George.  Coffee  keeps  me  awake,  and  I  have 
not  strength  of  mind  enough  to  forego  it  except 
under  the  incentive  of  a  benevolent  motive." 

Fleming  felt  that  he,  too,  lacked  strength  of 
mind  to  decline  either  the  coffee  or  the  moonlight 
tete-a-tete  on  the  terrace  with  Anne.  So  he  only 


ON  THE  TERRACE  253 

said,  "  Thank  you,"  to  the  Bishop,  and  followed 
his  hostess  through  the  long  window  to  the  little 
table  where  the  red-coated  serving-men  were 
already  setting  the  coffee-tray,  lighting  the  alco- 
hol lamp,  and  laying  out  the  tobacco  and  rice- 
paper.  He  sank  back  into  the  lounging-chair 
and  watched  with  a  sense  of  physical  content  the 
motion  of  Mrs.  Blythe's  slender  fingers  as  they 
rolled  the  cigarettes  and  laid  them  in  a  deft  row 
on  his  side  of  the  table.  The  diamond  on  her 
left  hand  caught  the  sparkle  of  the  alcohol  flame 
and  blazed  like  an  answering  fire.  Her  head 
was  bent,  and  his  eye  noted  the  curls  at  the  base 
of  her  small  head  where  it  joined  the  neck. 

"  Is  she  a  beautiful  woman  ?  "  he  asked  him- 
self, and  remembered  a  time  when  he  would 
have  said  "  No "  quite  positively.  Now  he 
found  himself  thinking,  if  this  were  not  beauty, 
so  much  the  worse  for  beauty.  There  is  a  charm 
which  can  afford  to  smile  at  any  appraisement  of 
the  value  of  features.  Is  the  nose  straight  by 
rule,  is  the  mouth  of  undue  width,  the  chin  too 
pointed  ?  What  does  it  all  matter  when  a  smile 
can  rob  men  of  the  power  to  judge?" 

For  these  few  days  in  which  fate  had  thrown 
them  together  Fleming  had  resolved  to  give 
himself  up  to  this  woman's  spell,  to  live  in  the 
light  of  her  eyes  and  the  lilt  of  her  voice.  For 


254     FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

one  week  he  would  bask  in  her  presence  and 
drift;  after  that  he  would  take  control  of  himself 
once  more,  man  the  helm,  and  steer  for  safer  waters. 

Anne  was  agreeably  aware  that  she  was  being 
watched  and  that  she  bore  watching.  The  lazi- 
ness of  Fleming's  look  gave  a  sense  of  tranquillity 
and  robbed  her  of  apprehension,  yet  it  told  un- 
mistakably of  appreciation,  and  hinted  at  some- 
thing beyond. 

"  We  forgot  Keats,  did  n't  we,  among  our 
invalids  *? "  Anne  said,  taking  up  the  dinner- 
table  talk  once  more  as  she  poured  the  coffee 
into  the  tiny  cups  with  their  setting  of  filigree 
silver. 

"  Yes,  we  forgot  Keats." 

"  That  is  curious." 

"  Curious  ?  I  don't  see  that.  We  could  n't 
think  of  every  one.  Why  of  him  more  than 
another  ?  " 

"  Because  you  always  make  me  think  of  that 
friend  of  his — Severn,  was  n't  it?  I  can  im- 
agine you  doing  just  what  Severn  did.  In  his 
place  you  'd  have  thrown  over  your  profession 
and  gone  to  Rome  and  nursed  Keats  till  he 
died,  just  as  you  're  doing  with  George  Newton." 

"  Why,  yes,  of  course,  if  he  'd  been  my  friend. 
So  would  you." 

Anne  narrowed  her  eyelids  till  the  eyelashes 


ON   THE   TERRACE  25$ 

almost  met.  "Perhaps,"  she  said  doubtfully, 
**  if  he  were  a  genius  and  I  knew  it,  and  knew 
that  I  should  be  immortalized  in  the  'Adonais.' 
Otherwise  not;  it  is  n't  in  me." 

Fleming  reached  forward  and  took  another 
cigarette.  The  darkness  fell  broodingly.  The 
moon  climbed  slowly  over  the  hill  opposite. 

At  last  Anne  spoke  abruptly. 

"  I  am  going  home  next  month." 

"  Yes  ?  " 

"Not  home  to  New  York,  you  know.  It 
would  be  hot  and  and  rather  dreary,  and  I  have 
not  courage  enough  yet  to  face  that  house  and 
all  its  associations.  No;  I  mean  to  write  and 
have  them  open  Driftwood.  You  know  Mr. 
Blythe  bought  that  the  year  before  he  died." 

"  Yes,"  said  Fleming  again. 

"  And  I  have  done  something  else." 

"  Something  very  radical  and  startling,  by 
your  tone." 

"  It  is,  and  I  dare  say  I  shall  be  awfully  sorry 
for  it  by  and  by;  but  it  is  you  who  are  respon- 
sible." 

"  I ! " 

"  You." 

"Explain,  please." 

"  I  call  it  obnoxious  to  be  as  good  as  you  are. 
It  sets  such  an  uncomfortable  standard." 


256     FOUR  ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

"Yes,  my  judgments  are  so  kindly  and  my 
social  relations  so  easy  and  genial !  " 

"They  are  n't,  are  they?  I  've  thought  of 
that,  and  tried  to  take  comfort,  but  I  can't.  I 
see  clearly  that  it  's  only  doing  good  to  people 
that  gives  you  a  right  not  to  like  them  —  and 
so  —  and  so  —  " 

"  And  so  you  've  sent  for  the  child  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  I  knew  you  would.  You,  being  you,  could  n't 
help  it.  Still,  it  's  taking  a  great  risk.  I  'm 
afraid  you  're  right  in  saying  that  you  will  be 
sorry." 

"  Very  likely ;.  but  you  don't  know  quite  what 
I  mean  to  do.  I  could  n't  keep  him  with  me. 
You  don't  think  I  ought  to  do  that  ?  " 

"  I  should  think  it  the  most  foolish  thing  you 
could  possibly  do." 

"  I  don't  know.  I  suppose  some  women  arc 
good  enough  to  do  it.  I  'm  not.  But  I  mean 
to  take  the  responsibility  of  bringing  up  the  boy, 
giving  him  an  education  and  a  start  in  the  world. 
My  maid  has  a  sister  who  lives  in  New  Hamp- 
shire, under  the  shadow  of  Monadnock.  She 
has  promised  to  care  for  the  child,  and  she  is 
to  be  trusted.  Of  course,  when  he  is  older,  we 
must  do  something  else ;  but  I  don't  need  to  decide 
that  now.  You  think  that  is  doing  my  duty  ?  " 


ON   THE   TERRACE  257 

"  I  do,  Mrs.  Blythc,  I  truly  do,"  Fleming  an- 
swered earnestly.  "  I  should  be  surprised  at 
your  doing  so  much  if  I  had  not  been  watching 
you  all  these  weeks  and  seeing  how  you  do  your 
duty  with  one  hand  and  shake  your  fist  at  it  with 
the  other.  Do  you  know,  a  year  ago  I  thought 
you  perhaps  needed  —  forgive  me  for  being  im- 
pertinent enough  to  speculate  about  you  —  but  I 
thought  the  discipline  of  unhappiness  might  be 
good  for  you ;  and  here  you  've  come  by  every 
wish  of  your  heart,  and  prosperity  has  done  as 
much  for  you  as  adversity  ever  did  for  the  most  un- 
happy-go-unlucky  wight  in  the  world.  It 's  a  com- 
fort to  see  things  work  like  that  once  in  a  while. 
Now,  look  at  all  you  Ve  been  doing  for  George." 

"Nothing  at  all  —  absolutely  nothing." 

"  Too  much  by  far.  You  are  overtaxing  your 
strength ;  but  it  will  not  be  for  long.  If  Newton 
arrives  to-night,  as  he  should,  or  even  to-morrow 
morning,  we  can  leave  next  day,  and  take  George 
by  easy  stages  to  Genoa,  giving  him  a  rest  at 
Pisa  and  again  at  Spezia  before  the  steamer  sails. 
Newton  telegraphed  that  he  would  start  for 
home  at  once." 

"  You  are  in  a  hurry  to  be  off." 

"  In  a  way  I  am.  I  feel  this  trespassing  on 
your  hospitality ;  but  I  can't  regret  it  when  I  see 
what  it  has  done  for  George." 


258     FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

"  You  are  not  going  back  to  America  with 
them  ?  " 

"No;  I  have  business  in  Paris  next  month, 
and  it  would  be  crossing  the  ocean  to  take  the 
next  steamer  back  again ;  but  I  must  go  as  far 
as  Genoa  and  see  George  safely  on  board  ship." 

"  But  his  father  will  be  with  him." 

"  Yes ;  another  reason  why  I  ought  to  go.  A 
gift  for  cellular  psychology  does  not  imply  a 
knowledge  of  ticket-buying  and  luggage-check- 
ing." 

"  You  could  not  be  persuaded  to  stay  over  a 
day  and  join  them  at  Genoa  ?  " 

Fleming  flicked  the  ashes  from  his  cigarette 
with  his  little  finger.  It  gave  him  an  instant  to 
reflect  on  his  reply. 

"  It  is  a  triumph  of  hospitality  to  suggest  it," 
he  said,  "after  all  the  bother  we  've  given  you; 
but  I  must  not  let  myself  think  of  it.  You  see, 
I  'm  only  a  nuisance  here,  and  George  really 
needs  me." 

"  Yes,"  said  Anne,  reluctantly ;  "  I  suppose 
he  does,  and  my  need  of  you  is  quite  frivolous." 

Fleming  tossed  away  his  cigarette  and  leaned 
forward,  throwing  his  face  into  the  light.  It  was 
tense  and  lined. 

"  Your  '  need,'  did  you  say  *?  " 

"  Need  is  a  strong  word  to  apply  to  a  horse- 


ON   THE   TERRACE  259 

back  ride.  The  fact  is  that  ever  since  I  've  been 
here  I  've  been  longing  to  ride  to  Vincigliata  — 
the  castle,  you  know,  back  here  on  the  hills, 
that  a  rich  Englishman  has  been  restoring  to  all 
its  middle-agedness,  even  to  spits  and  donjon  keys. 
Now,  my  absurd  uncle  won't  consent  to  my  go- 
ing with  the  groom,  and  it  would  be  cruelty  to 
ask  him  to  go  himself;  so,  you  see,  I  thought 
perhaps  you  would  n't  mind  sacrificing  yourself, 
But  it  is  really  of  no  consequence,  for,  whatever 
Uncle  Lawrence  may  say,  I  shall  go  with  the 
groom." 

"  Impossible  ! "  exclaimed  Fleming.  "  The 
Bishop  is  quite  right  in  protesting  —  over  these 
roads  with  untried  horses — " 

"  They  're  not  untried,"  said  Anne.  "  Some 
English  people  had  the  villa  last  year,  and  I 
fancy  the  horses  were  broken  to  saddle  then, 
Luigi  says  that  two  of  them  have  a  very  fair 
gait,  and  there  's  a  third  which  pounds  along 
after  a  fashion." 

"  You  really  mean  to  go  *?  " 

"  Certainly." 

"  Then,  with  your  permission,  I  shall  change 
my  mind  and  accept  your  invitation  to  stay  over 
a  day." 

"  No,  no,  you  must  n't.  George  would  miss 
you." 


260     FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

"  Let  him." 

"  Dr.  Newton  could  n't  get  on  without  you." 

"  No  matter." 

"  I  am  quite  ashamed  to  have  asked  it." 

"  Mrs.  Blythe,"  said  Fleming,  looking  at  her 
with  a  dominant  eye,  "let  this  be  understood 
between  us,  please.  Your  lightest  wish  counts 
with  me  more  than  all  the  needs  and  wishes  of 
the  rest  of  the  world.  Now,  don't  let  us  ever 
refer  to  the  subject  again." 

As  he  finished,  a  sound  of  wheels  was  heard. 

"  Newton  !"  exclaimed  Fleming,  rising  quickly, 
"and  high  time,  too." 

"  Yes,  it  was  Newton  who  descended  heavily 
from  the  carriage  at  the  gate  —  Newton ;  but  so 
changed,  so  broken,  that  Fleming  had  difficulty 
in  recognizing  him,  and  even  Anne  forgave  him 
much  as  she  looked  at  his  worn,  white  face.  As 
for  him,  he  took  their  hands  absently  as  if  neither 
they  nor  he  were  real. 

"  May  I  see  George  ?  Is  he  awake  *?  "  he 
asked. 

"  You  will  not  have  some  supper  before  you 
see  him  ?  " 

"  No ;  please  take  me  to  him." 

The  door  of  George's  room  stood  open,  and 
the  Bishop  was  reading  by  the  light  of  a  shaded 
night-lamp.  He  bowed  gravely  to  Nevrton  as 


ON   THE   TERRACE  261 

he  entered,  but  did  not  attempt  to  speak  for  fear 
of  disturbing  the  sleeping  boy. 

Newton  walked  to  the  bed  and  stood  looking 
down  at  the  sunken  cheek,  the  drawn  lips,  the 
damp  straggling  hair. 

He  attempted  no  word  of  speech  —  simply 
looked  and  looked  and  looked. 

Anne  and  the  Bishop  went  out  softly  and 
closed  the  door. 


XVI 

AT    SANTA    CROCE 
"  One  task  more  declined —  one  more  foot-path  untrod." 

NO  one  except  a  baby  is  so  much  missed 
from  a  household  as  an  invalid.  If  we 
wish  to  be  necessary  to  people  we  must  let  them 
do  for  us. 

George  Newton's  departure  had  cast  a  gloom 
over  the  whole  of  the  Villa  Piacevole.  The 
sympathetic  Italian  servants  went  about  with  red 
«yes.  "//  poverino!"  murmured  one.  "Ma, 
cuor  forte  rompe  cattiva  sorte ! "  They  had 
been  much  impressed  with  George's  courage  and 
cheerfulness,  and  now  they  stood  at  the  door  of 
his  empty,  silent  room,  awed  as  if  there  had  been 
a  funeral. 

Mrs.  Blythe  herself  felt  the  depression  that 
comes  of  relaxed  effort.  There  seemed  of  a  sud- 
den to  be  no  occupation  for  her  time.  Of  what 
use  to  arrange  flowers  ?  Every  one  of  the  house- 
hold now  was  strong  enough  to  go  out  of  doors 
and  look  at  the  tangled  poppy  banks  and  tulip 

262 


AT   SANTA   CROCE  263 

beds  on  the  hillside.  Why  coop  up  a  dozen 
tulips  in  a  vase  when  nature  spread  her  lavish 
thousands  in  the  open? 

No  more  ordering  of  delicate  invalid's  dishes ; 
no  gathering  of  news  to  beguile  the  sick-room 
hours.  Time  hung  heavily  on  her  hands.  More- 
over, it  would  be  worse  instead  of  better,  for  to- 
morrow Fleming  was  going,  and  beyond  that 
event  Anne  did  not  care  to  look. 

Meanwhile,  at  least  there  was  the  ride.  As 
she  came  down  the  stairs  dressed  for  it  in  her 
closely  fitted  riding-dress,  held  tightly  around 
her  above  the  little  booted  feet,  she  saw  ,her 
uncle,  in  the  hall  below,  drawing  on  his  gloves 
and  tucking  his  gold-headed  cane  under  his  arm. 
He  looked  at  her  not  wholly  approvingly  as  he 
noted  her  riding-dress. 

*'  So  you  are  determined  on  this  ride  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Yes ;  why  not  ?  " 

"  It  is  so  —  so  noticeable.  People  don't  do  it 
here." 

"  But  people  are  going  to  do  it  this  afternoon. 
'  That  's  the  way  this  duchess  walks.' " 

"  Anne,  you  are  obstinate,  and  obstinacy  is  not 
pleasing  in  women." 

"  No,"  said  his  niece,  taking  the  edges  of  his 
coat  in  both  hands  and  smiling  into  his  face ; 
"  only  in  bishops  ! " 


264     FOUR  ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

The  Bishop  had  eaten  an  indigestible  luncheon 
and  was  a  bit  out  of  temper;  therefore  he  was 
led  to  say  abruptly  and  explosively  what  he  had 
been  meaning  to  say  sometime  judicially  and 
tactfully. 

"  Anne,  you  have  had  an  overdose  of  freedom. 
You  need  to  marry." 

Mrs.  Blythe  gave  a  short  little  laugh. 

"  It  makes  marriage  sound  very  attractive, 
certainly,  this  opposition  to  liberty ! " 

"Nevertheless,  it  is  exactly  what  I  mean. 
You  should  marry  a  man  of  sound  sense  and 
strong  character,  who  would  rule  you  not  so 
much  by  force  of  will  as  by  force  of  a  supe- 
riority to  which  you  could  not  help  bowing." 

Anne  swept  him  a  salute  with  her  riding-crop. 

"  Have  you  selected  the  person  ?  " 

"  No ;  I  have  only  selected  the  type.  That  is 
as  far  as  a  guardian  is  justified  in  going." 

"  How  would  young  Hawtree  Campbell  suit 
you  ?  " 

"  A  fop,  a  fribble,  who  divides  his  time  between 
Vienna  and  the  hunting-field." 

"  But  his  estates  have  the  dust  of  time  on 
them,  and  the  dust  of  time  is  the  one  thing 
which  my  money  has  not  yet  been  able  to  buy. 
Well,  then,  if  you  don't  like  him,  there  is  the 
Personage.  I  have  been  given  to  understand 


AT   SANTA   CROCE  265 

that  my  graces  would  add  luster  to  the  ranks  of 
the  Italian  aristocracy." 

"  If  I  were  you,  Anne,"  said  the  Bishop,  dryly, 
"  I  should  count  that  offer  out.  When  the  terms 
of  the  will  are  known,  I  suspect  insuperable  ob- 
stacles —  difference  of  religion,  etc. —  will  arise. 
I  have  seen  such  things  happen;  love  undergoes 
a  gold-cure." 

"  Uncle  Lawrence,  you  are  not  flattering  to 
your  niece's  attractions;  but  if  my  charms  really 
depend  wholly  on  gold,  I  don't  see  but  I  am 
forced  back  on  Tom  Yates." 

"  Yates !  I  'd  rather  see  you  buried  than  mar- 
ried to  him." 

"  Please  don't  talk  about  Tom  —  you  don't 
understand  him.  He  is  n't  your  kind,  but  he  is 
a  thoroughly  good  fellow  for  all  that ;  at  least,  I 
am  fond  of  him  in  a  curious  way." 

"Don't  tell  me,  Anne,  that  you  are  one  of 
those  women  who  think  that  they  can  reform 
men  by  marrying  them  ! " 

"  I  'm  not  sure  that  I  could  n't.  But  if  you 
don't  like  him,  there  is  no  one  left  but  Mr.  Wai- 
ford." 

"  Well,  women  are  blind ! "  The  Bishop 
threw  back  the  remark  as  he  left  the  room. 

Mrs.  Blythe  did  not  appear  to  be  greatly  per- 
turbed by  his  contempt.  She  walked  to  the 


266     FOUR  ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

buhl  table,  on  which  stood  a  vase  of  roses,  and 
drawing  out  one,  was  pinning  it  to  her  dress 
when  Fleming  came  in  from  the  stable,  where  he 
had  been  inspecting  the  girth  of  the  side-saddle 
with  some  anxiety.  Like  most  spare,  square  men, 
he  looked  well  in  his  corduroys  and  riding-boots. 

**  Will  you  wear  a  rose  in  your  buttonhole, 
too  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Blythe. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Fleming,  and  drew  near  to 
Anne,  as  she  sorted  the  flowers.  While  she  was 
busy  fastening  the  rose  in  his  coat,  he  stood  with 
hands  behind  him,  carefully  staring  over  her  head 
at  the  wall  beyond ;  but  it  did  him  no  good,  for 
a  mirror  hung  there  and  reflected  him  and  her 
standing  close  together,  wearing  what  bore  a  fan- 
tastic likeness  to  bridal  favors.  Every  nerve  in 
him  thrilled,  the  color  rose  in  his  cheek  and  a 
light  in  his  eyes ;  but  he  bit  his  lips  to  keep  back 
the  words  that  rushed  to  them.  Men  fancy,  poor, 
simple  things,  that  all  is  well  if  they  give  their 
emotions  no  words,  as  if  words  were  not  the  least 
of  the  signs  by  which  a  woman  interprets  their 
feeling  for  her. 

"  Do  men  ever  care  how  they  look  ?  "  asked 
Mrs.  Blythe,  standing  back  with  appreciative 
scrutiny  in  her  eyes. 

"No;  as  a  rule,  they  care  more  how  the 
woman  with  them  looks,  which  is  fortunate." 


AT   SANTA   CROCK  267 

Anne  smiled.  She  liked  a  man  who  took  his 
cue. 

"  Shall  we  go  *?  "  she  suggested.  "  I  see  the 
horses  are  at  the  door." 

Half-way  down  the  hill  they  passed  the  Bishop. 
Anne  waved  her  hand  airily. 

"  Don't  worry  about  us,  uncle,"  she  called  out 
as  they  passed.  "  The  worst  that  can  happen  is 
to  have  '  Inglesi '  shouted  at  our  heels." 

Anne's  horse  shied  a  little,  and  Fleming  caught 
the  bridle. 

"  The  horses  are  hard-bitted,  but  safe  enough. 
I  shall  take  care  of  her,"  he  said  in  answer  to  the 
Bishop's  anxious  glance. 

"  I  am  sure  of  it,"  the  Bishop  answered,  and 
started  onward  more  placidly.  His  plan  was  to 
walk  down  the  hill  and  through  the  city  as  far 
as  Santa  Croce,  where  the  sharp  lights  promised 
a  good  view  of  the  frescos,  and  then  to  drive 
home.  He  looked  after  the  two  figures  on  horse- 
back somewhat  wistfully,  and  yet  he  was  not  in 
the  least  depressed  at  the  prospect  of  his  solitary 
afternoon.  He  was  no  longer  young,  and  Anne's 
conversational  pace  sometimes  put  him  out  of 
breath.  Besides,  as  he  grew  older  he  became 
more  and  more  interested  in  what  was  true  versus 
what  was  clever.  Having  no  divining-rod  to 
show  him  truth,  he  was  compelled  to  dig  for 


268     FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

it,  and  digging  for  truth  is  a  solitary,  pioneer 
process.  It  cannot  be  done  in  gangs. 

Moreover,  under  the  surface  of  worldliness  in 
the  Bishop's  character  there  lay  a  foundation  of 
genuine  piety,  which  made  it  a  pleasure  to  medi- 
tate alone  in  the  dim  silence  of  these  Old  World 
churches  and  give  himself  up  to  the  sacred  asso- 
ciations of  the  place. 

He  particularly  looked  forward  to  seeing  the 
Franciscan  frescos  alone.  Nothing  made  him 
realize  his  age  as  much  as  the  art  criticism  which 
he  heard  about  him.  It  was  the  jargon  of  a  new 
generation  —  a  patois  not  to  be  learned  late  in 
life.  For  himself,  he  was  contented  to  enjoy  the 
pictures  without  knowing  whether  they  were  in 
the  artist's  early  or  later  manner,  or  by  whom  the 
restorations  had  been  made.  In  fact,  he  found  it 
difficult  to  leave  his  profession  behind  him,  and 
he  caught  himself  making  surreptitious  notes  in 
a  little  red  book  concerning  the  spiritual  impres- 
sions left  by  certain  paintings ;  and  this,  as  every 
one  knows,  bespeaks  the  barbarian  in  art. 

To-day,  as  Santa  Croce's  brown  coolness  fell 
on  him,  it  put  him  in  mind  of  the  mantle  of  St. 
Francis.  He  felt  himself  calmed  and  tranquil- 
ized,  yet  quickened  in  spirit,  as  if  by  actual  con- 
tact with  that  sweetest  of  all  the  saints.  Gradu- 
ally he  fell  to  brooding  over  the  life  of  Francis, 


AT   SANTA   CROCK  269 

the  place  of  asceticism  in  the  modern  world,  the 
relative  rights  of  self-sacrifice  and  self-develop- 
ment—  what  were  the  limits  of  each? 

He  stood  in  the  Capello  Bardi  and  looked  up 
at  the  picture  of  the  saint  giving  his  cloak  to  a 
beggar,  and  leaving  his  father's  house  to  wed  with 
poverty.  How  medieval  in  its  passionately  sim- 
ple conception  of  duty !  The  Bishop  felt  the 
modern  longing  for  that  age  of  uncomplexity 
and  conviction.  What  terrors  had  loneliness  or 
poverty  or  death  for  the  soul  sure  of  its  mission  *? 

"  After  all,"  said  the  Bishop  to  himself,  "  the 
influence  of  a  great  and  generous  enthusiasm  is 
not  to  be  measured  by  its  direct  results.  It  is 
like  a  cross  set  up  to  mark  a  well  in  the  desert. 
Many  travelers  who  may  never  taste  of  the  waters 
yet  see  the  cross  in  the  distance  and  uncover  their 
heads  in  prayer." 

With  this  his  eyes  fell,  and  in  falling  struck 
full  on  Stuart  Walford. 

Neither  of  the  men  was  in  the  mood  for  an 
interview,  but  the  recognition  had  been  too  pal- 
pable. Walford  closed  his  Baedeker  and  moved 
across  to  the  spot  where  the  Bishop  was  standing. 
He  came  forward  smiling,  and  with  the  slight 
backward  toss  of  the  head  which  was  a  charac- 
teristic gesture  with  him. 

"  Good  afternoon,"  he  said.     "  I  suppose  you 


270     FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

came  here,  as  I  did,  hoping  for  a  good  light  on 
the  frescos.  They  're  interesting,  don't  you 
think,  in  spite  of  being  such  palpable  restora- 
tions?" 

"  I  was  not  criticizing,"  answered  the  Bishop 
—  "  not  criticizing  or  even  appreciating.  I  was 
reflecting." 

"Yes,  that  's  all  one  can  do  when  the  light  is 
so  bad.  Disappointing,  is  n't  it  ?  " 

"  Rather." 

"  Santa  Croce  is  jealous  of  the  sun.'* 

"  It  does  seem  so." 

This  was  the  first  conversation  which  these  two 
men  had  had  alone  together  since  that  day  in  the 
Bishop's  study.  At  such  a  meeting  there  is  no 
medium  between  confidence  and  commonplace. 
Both  minds  are  too  full  of  vital  things.  They 
must  either  speak  or  wear  a  mask. 

Bishop  Alston  always  refrained,  on  principle, 
from  meddling  in  other  people's  spiritual  affairs. 
He  held  that  it  was  not  the  office  of  a  bishop  to 
go  about  with  his  crozier  in  the  collar  of  society. 
"  After  all,  I  do  not  keep  a  black-sheep  ranch," 
he  was  accustomed  to  say.  Yet,  strangely 
enough,  this  reticence  of  his  impelled  confi- 
dences. There  is  nothing  that  men  love  so  much 
as  talking  of  themselves,  especially  to  those  who 
are  not  over-eager  to  hear. 


AT   SANTA   CROCE  271 

"  You  know  what  month  this  is,  Bishop  ? " 
Walford  began  with  heightened  color. 

"Certainly;  April." 

"And  have  you  any  recollection  of  me  and 
my  affairs  connected  with  that  date  *?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  the  Bishop  answered  calmly ;  "  this 
was  the  time  agreed  upon,  eighteen  months  ago, 
for  your  final  decision  in  regard  to  your  mission 
to  the  lepers  at  Molokai.  Have  you  made  it  *?  " 

"  Bishop  Alston,"  Walford  answered,  "  I  feel 
that  I  can  never  thank  you  enough  for  your 
counsel.  I  came  to  you  a  raw  boy,  full  of  a  boy's 
enthusiasm  and  a  boy's  unpractical  ideals." 

"  I  suppose  that  all  ideals  are  unpractical." 

"  Yes,"  Walford  went  on  smoothly  ;  "  ideals 
are  given  to  us  as  stars  to  light  our  course.  We 
must  not  try  to  carry  them  as  lanterns." 

"  I  don't  think  I  meant  exactly  that,"  the 
Bishop  dissented  mildly. 

"Oh,  I  quite  understood  you,"  said  Walford; 
"  and  in  looking  back  I  understand  the  mingled 
pity  and  amusement  with  which  you  must  have 
regarded  me  and  my  wild  scheme." 

"  Indeed,  no !  I  never  respected  any  man 
more." 

"  Ah,  that  is  like  you,  Bishop.  You  look  to 
the  motive  and  forgive  the  crudeness  of  the  act. 
But  your  advice  was  excellent.  I  have  acted 


272     FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

upon  it  to  the  letter,  and  the  result  is  what  you 
of  course  foresaw." 

"  You  have  given  up  the  mission  ?  " 

"Yes;  that  was  a  foregone  conclusion  from 
the  moment  when  I  realized  my  own  powers  and 
their  true  sphere." 

The  Bishop  nodded.  He  did  not  trust  him- 
self to  speak. 

"  I  have  stood  in  the  pulpit  there  at  St. 
Simeon's,"  Walford  continued,  "  and  I  have  seen 
that  great  audience  swayed  by  the  words  it  was 
given  me  to  speak.  Through  me  ten  thousand 
agencies  for  good  have  been  stirred  and  set  in  mo- 
tion; the  rich  men  have  given  of  their  plenty  and 
the  poor  of  their  scanty  store ;  the  young  men  have 
pressed  forward  to  help  in  my  work,  and  the 
mothers  have  brought  their  babes  to  the  font  to 
be  consecrated  by  me  to  God.  They  have  begged 
me  with  tears  in  their  eyes  to  help  them  in  their 
sacred  charge  of  rearing  their  children.  When  I 
realize  all  these  things,  I  feel  that  I  have  known 
the  highest  happiness  possible  to  man." 

"And  the  lepers  —  do  you  still  have  the 
vision  of  them  on  their  lonely  island  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  it  still  haunts  me  at  times.  I  think 
of  them  with  infinite  pity  and  sadness ;  but  I  try 
to  shut  out  the  thought  as  much  as  possible,  for 
nothing  so  unmans  one  for  the  every-day  duties 


AT   SANTA   CROCK  273 

as  allowing  one's  imagination  to  dwell  on  ills  too 
far  off  to  be  helped,  and  which  do  not  rightfully 
fall  within  his  line  of  activity.  It  is  a  form  of 
self-indulgence,  and  nothing  wrecks  a  career  like 
self-indulgence." 

"  Nothing,"  assented  the  Bishop,  dryly. 

"  I  had  a  letter  to-day  from  Dr.  Milner,"  Wai- 
ford  continued.  "  If  I  had  had  any  doubts  about 
my  course  before,  this  would  have  put  an  end  to 
them,  it  is  such  a  clear  pointing  of  the  finger  of 
Providence." 

"  Sometimes  I  think,"  said  the  Bishop  to  him- 
self, "  that  the  finger  of  Providence  must  be  set 
on  a  swivel,  it  points  in  so  many  different  direc- 
tions." 

"  Perhaps  you  would  like  to  read  the  letter," 
Walford  volunteered. 

The  Bishop  shook  his  head. 

"  Thank  you,  but  my  eyes  will  not  serve  me 
in  this  half-twilight.  I  shall  be  glad  to  have  you 
tell  me  as  much  as  you  will  of  its  contents." 

Walford  looked  a  trifle  crestfallen.  The  letter 
was  highly  complimentary,  and  compliments  to 
one's  self  are  difficult  to  transmit  through  one's 
own  lips. 

"  Dr.  Milner  writes,"  went  on  Walford,  after  a 
moment's  hesitation,  "  that  my  success  last  win- 
ter convinced  him  of  my  ability  to  carry  on  his 


274     FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

work;  that  he  has  talked  with  the  vestrymen, 
and  that  they  agree  upon  calling  me  in  his 
place  when  he  resigns,  as  he  intends  to  do  next 
January." 

"  Dear  old  Milner !  "  interpolated  the  Bishop. 
"  How  we  shall  miss  him,  and  what  a  noble  life 
his  has  been ! " 

"  Yes,  yes.  As  I  was  saying,  when  he  resigns 
next  January  I  am  to  have  the  call  —  an  extraor- 
dinary thing  for  so  young  a  man,  I  see  you 
think,  and  so  it  is,  but  all  the  more  gratifying  for 
that,  and  I  shall  always  feel  that  I  owe  all  that  I 
am  to  you  and  your  counsel." 

"Oh,  I  hope  not!"  exclaimed  the  Bishop, 
and  then  added  somewhat  lamely :  "  You  must 
regard  your  success  as  wholly  due  to  your  own 
temperament  and  talents.  I  should  not  be  jus- 
tified in  accepting  an  iota  of  the  credit." 

"  But  I  shall  insist  upon  giving  it." 

*"  Don't,  please ;  for  credit  implies  responsi- 
bility." 

"  Ah,  you  think  that  I  may  not  live  up  to  the 
record  I  have  made  so  far  ?  " 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  am  sure  you  will." 

The  Bishop  was  apparently  about  to  say  more ; 
but  just  then  the  bell  of  the  Campanile  sounded 
its  four  strokes. 

Walford  looked  at  his  watch  deprecatingly. 


AT   SANTA   CROCK  275 

"  I  am  sorry,"  he  said,  '*  but  I  have  an  engage- 
ment with  Miss  Yates  at  four." 

"You  are  already  late  then,"  the  Bishop 
answered,  conscious  of  a  marked  relief.  "Are 
you  to  be  in  Florence  for  some  time  longer  ?  " 

"  No ;  I  leave  Florence  for  Geneva  to-morrow, 
and  as  I  fear  I  shall  not  have  time  to  go  to  Fie- 
sole,  I  shall,  if  I  may,  ask  you  to  be  the  bearer 
of  my  farewells  to  Mrs.  Blythe.  Tell  her,  please, 
that  I  expect  to  sail  from  Naples,  and  so  I  shall 
hope  to  see  her  when  I  pass  through  Florence  again." 

"Certainly;  I  will  convey  your  farewells  with 
pleasure,"  said  the  Bishop,  and  then  was  aware 
that  the  reply  had  not  been  exactly  felicitous. 
The  younger  man,  however,  was  too  self-absorbed 
to  be  conscious  of  a  secondary  meaning  in  the 
words.  He  held  out  his  hand,  which  the  Bishop 
took,  and  then  both  men  bowed  and  parted. 

"  Now,  I  wonder,"  said  the  Bishop  to  himself, 
as  he  watched  Walford  disappearing  down  the 
long  aisle  —  "I  wonderwhy  I  feel  as  if  I  had  heard 
the  death-sentence  of  a  soul.  After  all,  what  is 
it  that  Walford  is  about  to  do?  To  accept  a 
call  to  one  of  the  most  important  and  influential 
churches  in  the  country.  Is  that  a  tragic  des- 
tiny *?  "  Then  Jean  Paul's  words  floated  through 
his  mind :  "  Tragic  destiny  is  the  long-reverber- 
ating mountain-echo  of  a  human  discord." 


276     FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

"  That  's  it,"  he  murmured ;  "  that  's  it !  It 
is  what  a  man  might  have  been  which  jars  on 
what  he  is.  When  a  man  has  once  stood  on  the 
Mount  of  Vision,  when  he  has  once  heard  the 
call  of  God  to  his  soul  and  has  made  answer, 
'  Here  am  I,'  he  can  never  go  back  to  dwell  in 
the  valley  of  commonplace.  The  miasma  there, 
to  which  ordinary  men  have  become  immune,  is 
deadly  to  him.  It  will  kill  Walford. —  I  wonder 
if  I  did  right." 


XVII 

HOW    IT    HAPPENED 

"  I  will  ride  until  the  end, 
Half  your  lover_ — all  your  friend." 

IT  was  one  of  those  Tuscan  April  days  when 
the  earth  is  pied  with  violets,  and  the  air  is 
like  heady  Greek  wine,  and  one  carries  the  gob- 
let of  life  steadily  lest  a  single  precious  drop  be 
spilled  untasted. 

Mrs.  Blythe  and  Fleming  came  out  from  the 
Vincigliata  castle;  but  ignoring  their  horses, 
which  the  groom  was  holding  on  the  plateau  be- 
fore the  postern-gate,  they  turned  and  walked  in 
the  direction  of  a  knoll  commanding  a  view  of 
hill  and  valley,  pine  forest  and  olive  slope,  and 
the  lazy  outline  of  the  distant  hills. 

Fleming  looked  at  Anne,  and  thought  he  had 
never  seen  her  so  young,  so  spirited,  so  tingling 
with  vitality.  He  felt  his  own  heightened  by 
the  companionship. 

"  Why  is  it,"  Anne  was  saying,  as  they  reached 
277 


278     FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

the  foot  of  the  knoll,  "that  a  restoration  like  this 
Vincigliata  here  leaves  us  cold,  where  the  merest 
stump  of  a  ruin  can  give  us  quite  an  emotion  ?  " 

"  I  fancy,"  Fleming  said,  "  it  is  because  asso- 
ciation is  a  highly  volatile  essence  and  must  be 
kept  in  the  original  bottle;  it  escapes  in  the 
transfer.  And  then  we  Anglo-Saxons  begrudge 
our  emotions,  anyway.  We  are  willing  to  part 
with  them  for  a  fair  equivalent,  but  we  will  not 
consent  to  be  cheated  out  of  a  penny's  worth." 

"  I  understand  that  feeling  perfectly." 

"Naturally.  You  are  an  Anglo-Saxon,  and 
cannot  escape  your  inheritance.  We  all  get 
heartaches  from  a  repression  which  these  Latins 
never  know." 

"  I  am  tired,"  said  Anne.  "  Shall  we  sit  down 
here  where  we  get  the  view  ?  " 

She  threw  aside  her  riding-crop  and  seated  her- 
self in  a  little  clearing  under  the  shadow  of  a 
group  of  pines.  Clasping  her  knees  with  her 
hands,  she  sat  gazing  hard  in  front  of  her  —  at 
what  ?  Fleming  wondered  as  he  lounged  on  the 
carpet  of  pine-needles  at  her  feet  and  looked  at  the 
landscape  because  he  did  not  dare  to  look  at  Anne. 

From  the  distance  came  the  clear  flute-call  of 
a  nightingale.  The  sound  gave  Mrs.  Blythe  a 
sense  of  freedom,  it  was  so  strange,  so  alien,  like 
this  silent,  austere  landscape,  which  seemed  no 


HOW    IT   HAPPENED  279 

part  of  her  life.  She  felt  as  if  she  and  the  man 
beside  her  had  drifted  away  from  the  conventions 
of  every-day  existence  into  a  still  pool  where 
only  heaven  was  reflected.  In  such  surround- 
ings much  might  be  ventured. 

Anne  gathered  a  handful  of  the  brown  pine- 
needles  and  let  them  slip  slowly  through  her  fin- 
gers. At  last  she  said: 

"  Have  you  seen  anything  of  Mr.  Walford 
lately  ?  " 

"  As  much  as  I  cared  to  see." 

"  How  much  ?  " 

"  Nothing  at  all." 

"  You  don't  find  him  particularly  sympathetic, 
do  you  ?  " 

"  No ;  our  vices  are  too  dissimilar." 

A  pause  followed.     Fleming  broke  it  saying : 

"  And  you  ?  Have  you  seen  Mr.  Walford 
often  <?  " 

"  Once  or  twice  only." 

"  And  that  feeling  of  which  you  spoke  on  the 
night  of  the  musicale  —  has  it  grown  any  more 
tangible*?" 

Anne  laughed  a  nervous  little  laugh. 

"  Oh,  I  forgot  to  tell  you  about  that.  It  died 
a  natural  death  ;  that  is,  if  anything  can  die  which 
has  never  existed." 

"Never  existed  ?" 


280     FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

"No.  That 's  the  curious  part  of  it.  I  un- 
derstand it  all  now  —  how  I  made  up  an  ideal 
out  of  qualities,  some  of  them  Mr.  Walford's, 
some  of  them  imaginary,  and  some  of  them  be- 
longing to  another  person  entirely.  I  called 
them  all  his,  and  was  ready  to  fall  down  before 
them;  but  one  day  the  veil  fell  from  the  real 
Mr.  Walford,  and  he  did  n't  fit  the  ideal  at  all. 
It  was  as  if  you  'd  fallen  in  love  with  a  picture, 
and  found  the  original  quite  different." 

"  It  must  have  been  a  cruel  disappointment." 

**  Why,  no.  Queerly  enough,  it  was  n't  a  dis- 
appointment, for  I  found,  to  my  own  surprise, 
that  I  did  n't  care  —  that  I  had  never  really 
cared." 

Fleming  drew  a  deep  breath  of  relief. 

"  I  am  more  thankful  than  I  can  express,"  he 
said  at  length.  "  You  would  never  have  been 
happy  with  Walford;  but  I  was  desperately 
afraid  you  might  deceive  yourself  till  it  was  too 
late."  " 

"  Why  did  you  say  nothing  then  *?  " 

"  I  had  no  right  to  speak,  in  the  first  place, 
and,  besides,  I  knew  that  I  was  not  an  impartial 
judge." 

"Mr.  Fleming,"  said  Anne,  suddenly,  "have 
you  a  sound  mind  and  a  strong  character  ?  " 

"  Decidedly  not." 


HOW    IT   HAPPENED  281 

Mrs.  Blythe  was  secretly  disappointed.  She 
had  hoped  that  he  would  inquire  why  she  asked, 
and  she  had  her  answer  ready.  As  it  was,  she  only 
observed  weakly: 

"  Oh,  I  thought  perhaps  you  had." 

"  Nothing  of  the  sort.  If  I  ever  flattered  my- 
self with  any  such  delusions,  I  have  been  thor- 
oughly undeceived  of  late.  I  knew  I  ought  to 
leave  Florence,  and  yet  I  stayed  —  does  that 
look  like  a  sound  mind1?  I  resolved  not  to 
take  this  ride  to-day,  and  here  I  am  —  is  that 
an  evidence  of  a  strong  character?  I  assure 
you,  my  will  is  made  of  jelly,  mush,  cream-pie 
—  whatever  is  most  a  synonym  for  weakness  and 
instability." 

Mrs.  Blythe  took  up  her  riding-crop  and  poked 
energetically  at  the  ground  with  it.  Fleming 
watched  her  procedings  idly. 

"  What  are  you  doing  ?  "  he  asked,  smiling. 
"  Digging  a  grave  for  Cock-Robin  *?  " 

"  Perhaps,"  Anne  answered  absently,  "  or  per- 
haps I  am  burying  a  few  scruples." 

"  Let  me  help  you  ! "  exclaimed  Fleming,  with 
alacrity.  "  I  have  a  private  graveyard  of  my 
own  for  interments  of  that  sort.  My  mind  is  full 
of  such  mounds  —  quite  humpy  with  them." 

A  long  pause,  then  Mrs.  Blythe  began  in  a 
rather  nervous,  low-pitched  voice : 


282     FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

"Mr.  Fleming — " 

•'  Present." 

**  Were  you  ever  in  love  ?  " 

Fleming  had  that  twin  quality  of  brooding 
melancholy,  a  delicately  balanced  sense  of  hu- 
mor. It  was  struck  and  set  vibrating  by  Anne's 
words.  He  gave  her  one  quick,  amused  upward 
glance  as  he  answered  : 

"  Mrs.  Blythe,  you  embarrass  me ! " 

"  No  doubt ;  but  were  you  ?  " 

"  Perhaps." 

"Did  you  ever  offer  yourself  to  any  one?" 

"  You  would  strip  the  veil  of  privacy  from  the 
most  sacred  emotions  of  the  human  soul." 

"  Very  likely ;  but  did  you  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  What  did  you  say  ?  " 

"Must  I  tell?" 

"  I  am  afraid  you  must.  It 's  quite  necessary." 

Fleming  appeared  to  be  giving  his  whole  at- 
tention to  filling  Cock-Robin's  grave  with  pine- 
needles,  while  Anne  reclasped  her  hands  about 
her  knees  and  leaned  back  against  a  tree-trunk 
in  a  listening  attitude. 

There  was  a  tenderness  of  reminiscence  in 
Fleming's  voice  when  he  spoke  at  last. 

"  Well,  then,  as  nearly  as  I  can  remember,  I 
said,  '  Susan,  let  us  build  a  little  house  in  the 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED  283 

garden  and  go  and  live  in  it.  I  will  be  the  hus- 
band and  fetch  bread  and  butter  from  my  kitchen 
if  you  will  be  the  wife  and  bring  jam  and  cream 
from  yours.'  I  was  seven  and  she  was  six,  and 
our  gardens  adjoined,  which  was  convenient; 
but  I  blush  to  this  day  to  think  what  a  lion's 
share  of  the  providing  I  imposed  upon  poor 
Susan." 

A  smile  trembled  across  Anne's  lips. 

"  An  excellent  proposal,"  she  said,  "  brief  and 
businesslike. —  Mr.  Fleming — " 

"  What  is  it,  Mrs.  Blythe  ?  " 

"Suppose  we  build  a  little  house  in  the  gar- 
den. You  might  be  the  husband  and  I  —  that 
is,  if  I  were  urged — " 

Silence,  blank  silence,  broken  only  by  the  note 
of  the  nightingale  in  the  branches  above  them. 
Anne  leaned  forward  till  she  could  see  Fleming's 
face,  which  had  been  kept  carefully  turned  away 
from  her.  It  was  white  to  the  lips.  If  it  had 
been  anything  but  that,  she  would  have  sunk 
through  the  earth.  As  it  was,  she  leaned  back 
contentedly  and  patted  the  gold  chatelaine  bag 
which  hung  at  her  belt. 

"  Is  this  a  farce  or  a  fairy-story  *?  "  Fleming 
said  at  last.  His  voice  sounded  hoarse  and 
forced. 

"  Neither.     It  is  a  plain,  straightforward  offer 


284     FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

of  marriage.  Now  I  have  spoken  out  like  a 
man,  and  it  is  open  to  you  to  adopt  the  woman's 
role  and  tell  me  that,  while  you  entertain  senti- 
ments of  the  highest  respect  and  esteem  for  me, 
you  have  not  that  feeling  which  would  justify 
you  in  accepting  my  flattering  offer.  Go  on !  " 

Fleming  jumped  up  and  began  to  pace  the 
walk  before  her.  His  whole  nature  was  in  re- 
volt. His  feelings  and  his  will  were  engaged  in 
a  life-and-death  struggle  for  the  mastery.  At  last 
he  folded  his  arms  and  said,  looking  fixedly  into 
the  distance : 

"  Mrs.  Blythe,  I  do  not  wish  to  marry  you." 

'*  That  was  not  what  I  told  you  to  say ;  but 
perhaps  you  found  my  formula  too  elaborate.  It 
will  be  enough  if  you  look  at  me  and  say, '  Mrs. 
Blythe,  I  do  not  love  you.' " 

"Mrs.  Blythe— " 

"  No ;  but  look  at  me." 

Fleming  turned  and  looked  down  at  that 
charming  oval  face,  the  arch  eyes  raised  to  his,  the 
tremulous  lips;  then  he  turned  quickly  away  again. 

"  I  cannot  say  it,"  he  said  low  and  unsteadily ; 
"  you  know  I  cannot.  Why  do  you  tempt  me  ? 
I  have  fought  this  battle  out  with  my  own  heart, 
and  I  will  not  be  overcome  now  —  betrayed  into 
an  act  of  which  I  should  be  ashamed  as  long  as 
I  live.  ApageSatana!" 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED  285" 

"  I  am  not  Satana,  and  I  will  not  apage,"  Mrs. 
Blythe  replied  with  energy.  "  Neither  am  I  the 
victim  of  my  own  pride,  which  I  make  a  fetish 
and  call  self-respect." 

Fleming  leaned  over  and  took  the  little  glove- 
less  hands  away  from  the  knees  which  they  had 
been  clasping.  One  of  these  hands  he  kept  close 
in  his  while  he  talked,  and  Anne  could  feel  the 
throbbing  of  that  strong  clasp. 

"  Listen,  dear,"  he  said.  "  You  don't  know 
what  you  are  asking  me  to  do.  It  is  adorable  in 
you  to  offer  this  sacrifice.  I  shall  have  it  to  re- 
member all  the  days  of  my  life.  But  for  me  to 
accept  it  would  be  another  matter.  I  should  feel 
like  a  scoundrel  robbing  a  child  of  a  bag  of  gold 
pieces.  Good  God,  Anne !  it  's  hard  enough 
loving  you  as  I  do  —  don't  make  it  harder ! " 

"  I  am  not  a  child,"  said  Anne,  "  and  I  have 
counted  the  cost —  my  gold  pieces  are  Dead  Sea 
apples.  No,  frankly,  that  's  a  lie.  I  like  my 
money  immensely,  but  I  like  you  better;  and 
since  I  must  choose  between  you,  why — " 

Fleming  shook  his  head. 

"  Now  let  us  look  at  the  thing  calmly,"  Anne 
went  on,  as  if  she  had  ever  looked  at  anything 
calmly  since  she  was  born.  "  You  think  it  would 
be  shabby  in  you  to  marry  me  *? " 

"  I  know  it  would." 


286     FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

"  And  I  think  it  would  be  shabby  in  you  not 
to.  Perhaps  we  are  neither  of  us  quite  impartial 
judges.  Suppose  we  lay  it  before  the  Bishop  and 
agree  to  accept  his  decision." 

"  To  what  purpose  *?  Bishop  Alston  is  a  man 
of  the  world.  I  know  what  his  point  of  view 
must  be.  Why  should  I  humiliate  myself  by 
giving  him  reason  to  think  me  capable  of  any 
other1?" 

"  You  say  my  uncle  is  a  man  of  the  world  *?  " 

"  In  the  best  sense  of  the  word,  yes." 

"  Very  good.  Now  if  he  sees  nothing  wrong, 
nothing  to  be  objected  to,  in  this  course,  why 
should  you  set  yourself  up  to  be  a  better  judge 
than  a  bishop  and  a  man  of  the  world  *?  " 

Silence  fell  again.  Fleming's  stern  jaw  set 
itself  more  firmly  than  before.  His  eyes  were 
inscrutable ;  but  Anne  Blythe  had  long  made  it 
a  rule  when  she  could  not  understand  the  lan- 
guage of  the  eyes  to  watch  the  hands.  In  the 
relaxing  of  the  clenched  fists  she  read  relent- 
ing. 

"Mr.  Fleming — " 

No  answer. 

"  Blair  —  No,  no,  that  was  not  a  challenge  ! 
There  are  limits  even  to  my  audacity." 

"  And  to  my  self-restraint.     Let  us  go  home." 

"And  ask  the  Bishop?" 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED  287 

"  Yes,  since  you  wish  to  see  me  so  humiliated^ 
we  will  ask  the  Bishop." 

"Ah,  now  you  are  charming." 

**  I  —  charming?  I  am  a  miserable  weakling. 
But  what  do  you  suppose  you  are  in  my  eyes? 
How  can  I  ever  hope  to  tell  you  ?  " 

"You  might  try." 

"  Not  without  danger  of  repeating  my  indiscre- 
tion of  a  moment  ago.  Anne,  do  you  think  — 
no  matter  what  the  Bishop  says  —  you  might  let 
me  kiss  you  once?  Thank  you.  I  shall  have 
that  to  remember.  Come  what  may  hereafter, 
Anne,  I  shall  have  that.  Let  us  go ! " 

Fleming  stretched  out  his  hand,  and  Anne  laid 
hers  in  his,  and  so,  simply,  like  two  children,  they 
walked  down  the  path  together;  but  when  they 
came  in  sight  of  the  horses  and  the  groom,  the 
sense  of  the  world  and  its  conventions  rushed 
back  upon  them,  and  Anne  pulled  her  hand  away, 
flushing  scarlet. 

On  their  homeward  ride,  however,  oblivious- 
ness  of  all  the  universe  fell  upon  them  again. 
They  forgot  everything  except  that  they  were 
together.  They  walked  their  horses  and  stopped 
every  once  in  a  while,  as  if,  even  at  this  snail's 
pace,  the  ride  would  be  ended  too  soon. 

Now  their  road  lay  through  dazzling  patches 
of  sunshine,  now  through  a  stretch  of  woods  as 


288     FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

dark  and  mysterious  as  that  where  Dante  lost  his 
path  midway  upon  the  journey  of  his  life.  It  was 
all  one  to  them. 

Anne's  state  of  mind  is  easy  to  describe.  She 
was  wildly,  exultantly  happy,  like  a  gambler  who 
had  staked  his  whole  fortune  on  a  single  cast  and 
won.  For  her  life  had  neither  past  nor  future ; 
it  was  one  great  absorbing,  thrilling  now. 

With  Fleming  it  was  different.  The  happi- 
ness was  there,  but  overlaid  with  doubts,  hesita- 
tions, questionings,  while  under  all  lurked  a  pos- 
sible despair.  His  senses  were  particularly  alert 
and  acute.  He  could  notice  every  wild  flower 
by  the  wayside.  He  could  swerve  Anne's  horse 
from  the  pool  which  the  last  night's  rain  had  left 
in  the  road.  And  yet  nothing  seemed  real.  For 
him  life  was  all  past  and  future.  It  was  Anne's 
voice  which  brought  him  back  to  the  present. 

"  Mr.  Fleming,  when  did  you  fall  in  love  with 
me?" 

"  You  called  me  Blair  once." 
"  That  was  an  experiment." 
"  Could  n't  you  experiment  again  ?  " 
"Well,  then,  when  did  you  — Blair?" 
"  I    could  n't   tell :  for  my  life  I  could  n't. 
Somewhere  in  prehistoric  ages,  I  fancy,  when  I 
was  a  savage  crying  for  the  moon." 
"  But  in  your  present  incarnation." 


HOW    IT   HAPPENED          289 

"I  don't  know.  In  looking  back,  my  life 
seems  only  a  series  of  impressions  of  you,  with 
vacant,  meaningless  spaces  between." 

Fleming's  horse  shied  at  a  rock  jutting  out 
from  the  hillside.  When  he  had  mastered  it, 
Mrs".  Blythe  began  once  more. 

"  I  don't  intend  to  letyou  offso.  We  mustget  at 
it  by  a  process  of  exclusions,  I  see.  You  were  n't 
in  love  with  me  before  my  father-in-law  died?" 

"  N-no,  I  suppose  not.  What  an  idiot  I  must 
have  been  not  to  be  ! " 

"Nor  that  evening  Jin  the  library  when  I  sent 
for  you  there  in  New  York  ?  " 

"  Was  n't  I  ?  I  'm  not  so  sure.  In  fact,  I 
think,  if  the  thing  had  a  beginning,  it  was  then 
when  you  leaned  forward  in  the  firelight  and 
said  how  you  wanted  to  be  happy.  I  remember 
I  felt  as  if  it  were  my  own  youth  pleading  with 
me,  and  I  was  conscious  of  a  wild  desire  that  you 
should  be  happy,  let  it  cost  what  it  might  to  any 
one  else ;  but  if  I  was  in  love,  I  did  n't  know  it  — 
not  then,  or  on  the  steamer  when  I  said  good- 
by ;  not  even  when  I  came  over  here  with  George 
Newton,  though  now  it 's  as  clear  as  day  to  me 
that  the  desire  to  see  you  again  was  at  the  bottom 
of  all  that." 

"  Yes ;  but  when  did  you  know  ?  " 

"  I  '11  tell  you :  it  was  the  night  of  your  musi- 


290     FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

cale.  Walford  was  there,  and  he  said  something 
to  me  about  you  —  something  that  I  did  n't  like  ; 
but,  curiously  enough,  instead  of  making  me 
more  than  passingly  indignant  with  him,  it  turned 
my  thoughts  inward.  It  was  lik£  a  great  globe 
of  light  striking  me  in  the  eyes,  and  my  head  felt 
queer  and  my  ears  rang,  and  something  said, 
4  You  're  in  love  with  her.  Don't  deny  it ! ' " 

"  How  very  strange  ! "  said  Anne,  and  repeated 
under  her  breath,  "  How  very  strange  ! " 

"Strange'?  Not  at  all;  only  strange  that  I 
should  have  been  blind  so  long." 

"  I  did  n't  mean  that.  I  was  thinking  that  it 
was  a  curious  thing  that  it  should  all  have  come 
to  me  on  the  same  evening,  and  through  Mr. 
Walford,  too.  He  had  brought  me  a  letter  — 
one  that  Renee  Jaudon  had  kept  back." 

"  Yes,"  interrupted  Fleming.  "  I  know  all 
about  that,  and  Walford  had  read  it." 

'*  He  had,  and  I  was  very  angry ;  but  after- 
ward, up  in  my  room,  I  sat  down  by  my  window 
in  the  moonlight  to  think  it  over.  I  grew  calmer, 
and  presently  my  resentment  faded  out.  *  After 
all,'  I  thought,  *  I  have  no  right  to  be  severe 
toward  him.  Perhaps  any  man  would  have  done 
it.'  Then  I  stopped  myself  indignantly.  *  No ; 
there  's  one  man  who  would  n't  have  done  it. 
Blair  Fleming  would  n't.'  And  then  —  /  knew." 


XVIII 

WHAT    THE    BISHOP   SAID 

"  Strange  all  this  difference  should  be 
'Twixt  tweedledum  and  tweedledee." 

MRS.  BLYTHE  and  Fleming  had  returned 
from  their  ride,  but  had  not  yet  changed 
their  costumes.  Anne  sat  in  a  lounging-chair, 
and  Fleming  sat  on  the  coping  of  the  balustrade, 
tapping  the  toe  of  his  boot  nervously  with  his 
riding-whip,  and  looking  at  Anne  Blythe  as  he 
had  never  dared  to  look  at  her  before,  with  his 
heart  in  his  eyes. 

44  Have  you  always  been  as  beautiful  as  you 
are  to-day  *?  "  he  asked  at  length. 

"Always,"  Anne  replied,  with  pleasing  confi- 
dence ;  "  only  you  had  not  the  wit  to  see  it." 

"  I  think,"  said  Fleming,  "  it  was  because  I 
was  afraid  to  look  at  you  long  enough  to  form  a 
lasting  impression  that  I  never  could  bring  you 
up  before  me  when  I  was  away  from  you.  I 
could  hear  your  voice  —  I  have  every  tone  of  it 
by  heart ;  but  when  I  tried  to  recall  your  face  it 

291 


292      FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

was  blurred,  a  mere  catalogue  of  chestnut  hair, 
hazel  eyes,  and  little  pointed  chin.  But  if  I 
imagined  you  speaking,  then  I  could  see  the 
smile  ripple  along  your  lips  and  the  half  closing 
of  your  eyelids,  as  if  they  were  trying  to  keep 
the  fun  in  your  eyes  all  to  themselves.  You 
should  smile  always,  Anne." 

"  It  will  be  your  business  in  life  to  see  that  I 
have  cause  to  do  so,"  Mrs.  Blythe  answered,  flick- 
ing at  the  dust  on  her  skirt  with  her  riding-crop. 
"  Ah,  here  comes  my  uncle  up  the  little  path. 
He  must  have  dismissed  the  carriage  below  there 
somewhere.  Shall  we  say  anything  to  him  this 
afternoon  ?  " 

'*  By  all  means.** 

'*  Perhaps  it  would  be  better  to  wait" 

"Not  an  hour.  Suspense  is  worse  than  cer- 
tainty. Do  you  know,  Anne,  that  scene  at  Vin- 
cigliata  begins  already  to  seem  like  the  one 
beautiful  dream  of  my  life,  and  now  —  now  I 
am  waking  and  the  dream  is  over." 

Tinkle,  tinkle,  went  the  Bishop's  ringat  the  gate. 

"Now,  remember,"  said  Fleming,  "whatever 
hig  decision  may  be,  we  both  agree  to  be  bound, 
by  it" 

"  Yes." 

"  And  I  am  to  lay  the  case  before  him  fairly 
and  squarely  ?  * 


WHAT  THE  BISHOP  SAID      293 

"  Yes." 

**  And  you  will  not  interfere  or  interrupt  until 
he  has  spoken  ?  " 

"No." 

"  Don't  you  think  you  'd  better  go  away  and 
let  me  have  it  out  with  him  alone  ?  "  . 

"Decidedly,  I  do  not.  The  matter  concerns 
me  as  much  as  it  does  you,  and  I  should  think  I 
might  at  least  be  permitted  to  hear  —  Do  you 
know,  it  begins  to  occur  to  me  that  you  are  quite 
likely  to  develop  a  dictatorial  turn  of  mind  when 
we  are  married  *?  " 

"  Don't  say  *  when ';  say  *  if.*  When  makes  it 
sound  so  distractingly  possible,  and  it  will  be  all 
the  harder  to  give  it  up  in  the  end.  But  if  you 
will  stay,  at  least  let  me  move  your  chair." 

"  No,  thank  you ;  I  am  very  comfortable  here, 
where  I  can  see  the  Duomo  and  the  Bargello  — 
and  you." 

"  Yes ;  but  I  can  see  you,  too." 

"  Do  I  offend  your  esthetic  sense  ?  " 

"Anne,  you  are  not  so  much  in  love  as  I — 
you  don't  know  anything  about  it.  When  I 
look  at  you  I  wish  to  give  myself  up  to  the  full 
luxury  of  the  occasion.  When  I  have  business 
on  hand,  and  somewhat  nervous  business  at  that, 
it  distracts  me." 

"I  will  keep  my  veil  down  if  you  like." 


^94     FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

"  That  will  be  of  no  use.  I  shall  imagine  the 
face  behind  it,  and  I  shall  become  hopelessly 
confused  and  inconsecutive  —  begin  a  sentence 
.sensibly  and  end  with  a  foolishness." 

"  Nonsense ! " 

*'  Yes,  I  shall  —  I  shall  say :  *  My  dear  Bishop, 
why  do  you  wear  those  bewildering  little  curls 
in  front  of  your  ears,  and  where  did  you  get  that 
curve  to  your  cheek-line  *? '  Then  your  Right 
Reverend  uncle  will  take  me  for  a  lunatic,  and 
very  properly  refuse  to  allow  his  niece  to  bestow 
a  second  thought  upon  me.  For  pity's  sake,  go ! 
Here  comes  the  Bishop." 

Fleming's  arguments  had  been  singularly  ill 
.adapted  to  produce  the  effect  which  he  professed 
to  desire.  Had  he  suggested  that  Anne's  hair 
was  coming  down  or  that  the  light  was  trying, 
he  might  have  accomplished  something.  As  it 
was,  Mrs.  Blythe  only  —  well,  she  did  not  move 
any  farther  away. 

"  Did  you  enjoy  Santa  Croce,  Uncle  Law- 
rence *?  "  she  said  as  the  Bishop  entered,  looking 
rather  winded,  and  dropping  heavily  into  a  rush 
chair  near  the  balustrade. 

"  Not  at  all,"  was  the  Bishop's  answer.  Clearly 
his  mood  was  not  propitious. 

"  I  am  so  sorry  you  were  disappointed ! " 

(She  was  uncommonly  sorry.) 


WHAT  THE  BISHOP  SAID       295 

"  Thank  you,  my  dear." 

"  What  was  the  trouble  —  was  the  light  poor?  " 

"The  light  was  good  enough,  but  I  did  not 
stay  long.  The  fact  is,  I  met  Mr.  Walford,  and 
he  and  I  talked  for  some  time.  After  that  I 
found  myself  not  in  the  humor  for  sight-seeing; 
so  I  only  looked  at  one  or  two  of  the  frescos,  and 
came  home.  I  shall  try  again  some  other  day  — 
in  the  morning,  perhaps." 

"  So  you  saw  Mr.  Walford.  Did  he  inquire 
for  me  ?  " 

"No;  that  is,  yes.  He  sent  his  compliments 
and  the  message  that  he  was  leaving  for  Geneva 
in  a  day  or  two,  but  should  hope  to  see  you 
when  he  came  back,  as  he  expects  to  sail  from 
Naples.  I  had  begun  to  think,  Anne,  that  he 
was  an  admirer  of  yours." 

Fleming  saw  his  chance. 

"  I  am  entirely  of  your  opinion,  Bishop,"  he 
said.  "  I  think  that  Mr.  Walford  not  only  was, 
but  w,  an  admirer  of  Mrs.  Blythe's.  Indeed,  she 
and  I  have  been  talking  about  him  this  after- 
noon." 

"  Have  you  ?  "  said  the  Bishop.  "  Anne,  my 
dear,  you  might  order  the  tea.  I  dismissed  the 
carriage  and  took  the  short  cut  up  the  hill,  and  I 
find  myself  rather  tired  by  the  climb.  I  am  not 
so  young  as  I  once  was." 


296     FOUR  ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

"  Very  well,  uncle,"  Anne  responded ;  but  she 
did  not  give  the  order.  Her  eyes  were  fixed 
anxiously  on  Fleming,  who  went  on :  "  Yes, 
we  were  talking  of  Walford,  and  in  that  con- 
nection of  marriage.  The  truth  is  that,  although 
our  conversation  was  personal  and  confidential, 
I  obtained  Mrs.  Blythe's  consent  to  lay  it  before 
you,  and  she,  on  her  part,  agreed  to  consider  her- 
self bound  by  your  decision." 

"  Ah ! "  —  The  Bishop  turned  sharply  that  he 
might  face  Fleming.  He  crossed  his  knees  and 
thrust  one  hand  between  them,  as  was  his  habit 
when  listening  intently. 

"As  our  talk  turned  somewhat  on  legal  and 
business  matters,"  Fleming  said,  "I  asked  Mrs. 
Blythe  to  let  me  state  the  case  without  inter- 
ruption from  her,  she  being,  as  you  know,  not 
wholly  free  from  impulsiveness." 

*'  I  should  say  not ! "  the  Bishop  observed  with 
emphasis. 

"  Precisely.  I  see  you  understand  your  niece's 
character  perfectly,  and  realize  how  possible  it 
would  be  for  her  to  be  led  under  impulse  into 
doing  something  which  she  might  greatly  regret 
afterward." 

"  I  can  imagine  such  a  possibility." 

"  Very  well ;  then  let  me  put  to  you  a  hypo- 
thetical case.  Let  us  suppose  a  man  situated 


WHAT   THE   BISHOP   SAID      297 

somewhat  as  Mr.  Walford  is,  in  love  with  a 
woman  whose  situation  is  like  that  of  Mrs. 
Blythe,  and  suppose  her  to  reciprocate  his  senti- 
ments." 

The  Bishop  glanced  swiftly  at  Anne. 

She  was  blushing,  and  blushing  was  rare  with 
her.  It  meant  a  great  deal.  Her  uncle  felt  his 
heart  sink.  "  And  I  was  so  fond  of  her !  "  was 
the  thought  that  flashed  through  his  mind. 

"Go  on,  Mr.  Fleming;  I  am  listening,"  was 
what  he  said  aloud. 

"  Pardon  me  if  I  find  it  hard,  after  all,  to  put 
my  question  all  at  once.  It  involves  so  many 
things  that  we  have  been  discussing.  The  first 
is  this :  Is  it  your  opinion  that  Mrs.  Blythe  could 
be  happy  on  the  modest  competence  which 
would  remain  to  her,  by  the  terms  of  Mr. 
Blythe's  will,  if  she  entered  into  this  alliance  ? 
Could  she,  that  is,  give  up  millions  for  thousands 
without  a  reaction  of  regret  in  the  years  to 
come?" 

The  Bishop  saw  breakers  ahead.  He  rose  and 
took  a  turn  up  and  down  the  terrace.  When  he 
came  back  to  where  the  other  two  were  sitting,  he 
wore  a  troubled  look. 

"  I  must  answer  candidly,  Fleming ;  and 
Anne,  my  dear,  I  am  speaking  to  you.  too:  I 
never  saw  a  woman  so  dependent  on  money  as 


298     FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

you.  I  cannot  imagine  you  happy  living  in  a 
small  way." 

"But,  uncle — " 

"  Pardon  me,  my  dear  Mrs.  Blythe,"  Fleming's 
voice  broke  in,  "but  you  must  not  forget  that 
you  agreed  to  be  represented  by  counsel,  and 
under  the  circumstances  you  cannot  be  heard  by 
the  court  in  person.  The  Bishop  has  delivered 
his  first  decision,  and  no  matter  against  whom  it 
scores,  no  exceptions  must  be  taken.  Now  let 
us  go  on.  Would  you  say,  Bishop, — of  course 
you  understand  that  this  talk  is  wholly  confiden- 
tial, and  frankness  is  essential, — would  you  say 
that  for  a  man  in  Mr.  Walford's  circumstances 
financially  to  offer  himself  to  Mrs.  Blythe, 
placed  as  she  is,  was  honorable  or  even 
honest?" 

The  Bishop  paused  a  long  while.  At  length 
he  said : 

"  I  look  upon  honesty  as  a  high  dilution  of 
honor.  I  could  not  conscientiously  say  that  I 
should  regard  it  as  any  breach  of  honesty  for  a 
man  like  Walford  to  ask  my  niece  to  marry  him ; 
but  for  a  man  of  sensitive  honor,  a  man  like  you, 
Fleming,  I  should  say  it  would  be  difficult  to 
bring  himself  to  do  it.  It  must  necessarily  lay 
him  open  to  a  great  deal  of  unpleasant  criticism, 
and,  to  say  the  least,  he  must  have  an  excellent 


WHAT   THE   BISHOP   SAID      299 

opinion  of  himself  to  regard  his  society  as  an 
offset  to  all  that  he  asks  her  to  relinquish." 

"  I  have  the  honor  to  agree  with  you  entirely, 
Bishop.  Mrs.  Blythe,  I  think  that  your  uncle 
has  answered  all  the  points  submitted." 

Fleming's  lips  wore  a  smile,  but  his  face  was 
ashen  gray.  The  look  of  youth  was  gone  out 
of  it.  He  quietly  unpinned  the  rose  from  the 
buttonhole  of  his  coat  and  let  it  slip  to  the  pave- 
ment. Then  he  sat  looking  down  at  it. 

Anne  Blythe  dropped  her  riding-crop.  With 
two  strides  she  reached  the  Bishop's  chair.  She 
sank  down  on  the  low  stool  beside  it,  and  lean- 
ing her  head  against  the  arm,  she  began  to  cry ; 
not  with  the  artistic,  crystalline  tears  of  Eunice 
Yates,  but  with  genuine  sobs  which  burst  the 
pinning  of  her  white  stock  and  shook  her  hat 
awry. 

"  Oh,  don't  you  see  how  you  've  mixed  up 
everything ! "  she  said  at  last,  between  her  sobs. 
"  I  said  I  would  agree  to  be  bound  by  your  de- 
cision, because  I  thought  I  could  trust  you.  I 
never  believed  for  a  moment  you  'd  take  that 
view  of  it,  and  you  Ve  always  liked  him  so 
much ! " 

"  No,  Anne ;  there  you  are  grievously  mis- 
taken. From  the  first  moment  I  saw  Stuart 
Walford  here  in  Florence  I  distrusted  him." 


300     FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

"  But  it  was  n't  Mr.  Walford  he  was  talking 
about.  It  was  himself — Blair  Fleming.  And  he 
did  n't  ask  me  to  marry  him  —  I  asked  him  to 
marry  me;  and  at  first  he  would  n't  hear  of  it  at 
all,  and  at  last  he  agreed  to  leave  it  to  you ;  but 
he  said  you  'd  say  just  this  sort  of  thing  about  it. 
I  agreed  to  it,  too,  because  I  thought  I  knew 
you;  but  now  you  're  so  different  I  take  back 
my  promise.  You  can  do  that,  Mr.  Fleming, 
even  in  law ;  you  can,  if  nothing  has  been  done 
about  it.  Now  I  do  not  agree  to  abide  by  my 
uncle's  decision.  It  was  absurd  to  think  of  leav- 
ing such  a  thing  to  him  to  decide,  anyway,  after 
you  and  I  had  decided  it  once  for  all  over  there 
on  the  hillside  at  Vincigliata." 

Bishop  Alston  was  slowly  recovering  from  his 
bewilderment  while  Anne  Blythe's  tirade  was  in 
progress.  He  laid  a  calming  hand  on  her  trem- 
bling ones ;  but  he  turned  to  Fleming  with  grave 
and  disapproving  eyes. 

"  This  is  not  what  I  should  have  looked  for 
from  you,  Mr.  Fleming,"  he  said.  "  It  is  not  — 
not  ingenuous." 

Fleming  crossed  the  terrace  and  seized  the 
Bishop's  hand  with  a  grip  which  made  the 
prelate  wince. 

"  Forgive  me !  "  he  exclaimed,  with  a  stress  of 
compelling  emotion  in  his  voice.  "  I  meant  no 


WHAT   THE   BISHOP  SAID     301 

disrespect,  and  I  had  no  intention  of  trapping 
you  in  an  ambush.  I  wished  only  to  get  your 
unbiassed  opinion,  given  so  clearly  that  there  was 
no  mistaking  it  —  as  it  has  been.  I  knew  that 
you  were  a  good  friend  of  mine,  and  that  drag- 
ging my  personality  into  the  situation  would 
embarrass  and  pain  you,  while  it  would  not  affect 
the  question  at  issue." 

"  But  it  does  affect  the  question  at  issue.  In 
fact,  it  changes  the  question  altogether."  The 
Bishop  spoke  with  an  amount  of  irritation  quite 
foreign  to  his  character;  but  in  Anne  Blythe's 
eyes  he  had  never  appeared  so  altogether  lovely. 
She  gave  an  affectionate  squeeze  to  the  hand  laid 
on  hers. 

"  If  you  please,  my  dear ! "  said  her  uncle, 
withdrawing  it  hastily.  "  Mr.  Fleming  has  just 
disabled  one  of  my  hands,  and  I  prefer  to  keep 
one,  at  least,  with  which  to  write  an  essay  on 
4  The  Inscrutable  Folly  of  Lovers.'  As  for  you, 
Fleming,  up  to  this  time  I  had  mistaken  you  for 
a  sensible  man, — you  have  all  the  earmarks  of 
one, — but  to-day  you  are  behaving  like  a  fool." 

"  Very  likely,"  said  Fleming,  with  dreary  ac- 
quiescence in  his  tone ;  "  but  it  does  n't  matter 
much,  does  it,  to  any  one  but  myself?  " 

"  I  should  say  it  mattered  a  good  deal  to  Anne 
whether  her  husband  were  a  fool  or  not." 


302     FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

"  Then  let  us  hope  that  she  may  meet  with 
one  of  those  rare  beings  on  whom  the  gods  have 
bestowed  both  brains  and  money." 

"  I  don't  know  that  rich  fools  are  any  more  com- 
mon than  poor  ones,"said  the  Bishop,  more  blandly, 
as  he  felt  his  grasp  strengthen  on  the  situation. 
"  However,  it  was  not  of  fools  in  general,  but  of 
one  in  particular,  that  we  were  talking  —  to  be 
exact,  of  you,  Mr.  Fleming.  You  wish  to  marry 
my  niece,  and  you  very  properly  lay  the  matter 
before  me  as  her  guardian  —  in  loco  parentis,  as  it 
were.  Now,  why  could  n't  you  do  it  like  a 
man,  over  your  own  name,  instead  of  hiding  be- 
hind the  back  of  another  ?  " 

"All  this  talk  is  idle,  Bishop,"  Fleming  an- 
swered wearily.  "  I  admit  I  was  a  fool  in  dream- 
ing of  marrying  Mrs.  Blythe,  not  in  loving  her, 
— I  shall  always  be  proud  of  that ;  — but  in  not 
being  content  to  love  her  without  return.  To 
ask  for  that  return  was,  as  you  said  just  now, 
unworthy  of '  a  man  of  sensitive  honor.'  * 

The  Bishop  did  not  answer  at  once.  He  rose 
and  paced  the  terrace,  his  hands  locked  behind 
him,  and  his  head  bent  as  if  he  were  studying  the 
crevices  between  the  bricks.  At  last  he  came  up 
behind  Anne,  and  taking  her  head  between  his 
hands,  he  turned  it  up  and  kissed  her  forehead. 

"  It  occurs  to  me,  Fleming,"  he  said,  "  that  in 


WHAT   THE  BISHOP   SAID     303 

all  our  discussion  we  are  making  very  little  ac- 
count of  one  thing,  the  will  of  a  wilful  woman, 
which  is  strong  enough  to  dominate  all  the  logic 
of  man.  I  scorn  to  take  refuge  behind  the  fact 
that  it  was  my  niece  who  made  the  proposal  of 
marriage,  for  I  know  her  well  enough  to  be  sure 
that  she  would  never  have  spoken  with  her  lips 
if  you  had  not  first  spoken  with  your  eyes  and 
your  manner.  Is  n't  that  so  ?  " 

"Of  course  it  is:  I  plead  guilty;  but  Heaven, 
knows  I  tried  my  best  not  to  betray  myself.  I 
believe,  except  for  these  last  few  days,  I  could 
have  carried  it  through." 

"  That  would  have  been  a  fine  manly  thing  to 
do ! "  Anne  exclaimed  scornfully.  "  I  've  known 
many  a  man  who  would  n't  risk  a  refusal  from 
the  woman  he  was  in  love  with ;  but  you  're  the 
only  one  I  ever  saw  who  was  afraid  of  an 
acceptance." 

"Anne,"  expostulated  her  uncle,  "will  you  let 
me  finish  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes ;  go  on !     I  apologize." 

"  Very  well,  then ;  I  wish  both  you  and  Mr. 
Fleming  to  follow  my  state  of  mind,  to  listen  to- 
my  retraction.  I  came  away  from  Santa  Croce 
this  afternoon  thoroughly  out  of  tune  with  Stuart 
Walford.  There  was  a  time  when  I  had  high 
hopes  of  him ;  but  I  put  him  to  a  test,  and  he 


304     FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

failed  to  meet  it.  He  may  be  —  probably  is  — 
as  good  as  other  men  still,  but  the  canker  is  eat- 
ing his  soul.  Well,  I  had  been  pondering  on  all 
this  on  my  way  up  the  hill,  and  thinking  how,  of 
all  the  men  I  had  ever  known,  he  was  the  last 
whom  I  should  choose  to  be  Anne's  husband, 
when  you  sprang  your  trap  on  me,  and  I  fell 
into  it  thoroughly,  completely,  without  a  crack 
or  a  crevice  to  escape  by.  As  you  sat  there  I 
felt  a  sense  of  impotent  wrath  at  your  superiority, 
and  at  Anne  for  not  recognizing  it.  My  feeling 
colored  every  word  I  said. 

"  I  cannot  take  back  all  of  it  even  now.  I  do 
think  Anne  will  have  a  hard  time  to  accustom 
herself,  not  so  much  to  economies  as  to  the  with- 
drawal of  that  distinction  which  great  wealth 
gives.  She  is  a  vain  creature,  is  Anne.  With  a 
man  like  Walford  her  vanity  would  have  grown 
daily  by  contact  with  his ;  but  with  you  her 
vanity  will  be  swallowed  up  in  your  pride." 

"Yes,"  interrupted  Anne,  "and  pride  is  a 
much  worse  vice  than  vanity ;  for  when  you  're 
vain,  like  me,  you  wish  every  one  to  love  and 
admire  you,  and  so  you  try  to  be  pleasant ;  but 
when  you  're  proud,  like  you,  Mr.  Fleming,  you 
just  don't  care  what  any  one  else  thinks  or  how 
any  one  else  feels,  so  long  as  you  preserve  that 
precious  self-respect  of  yours." 


WHAT   THE  BISHOP   SAID     305 

"Anne,  my  dear,  this  is  another  digression," 
said  the  Bishop,  with  authority  in  his  voice. 
"  Let  me  finish  what  I  was  saying  to  Mr.  Flem- 
ing. I  wish  to  apologize  for  the  haste  and  the 
unworthy  motives  with  which  I  spoke.  I  wish 
him  to  understand  fully  that  I  withdraw  from  the 
position  that  I  then  took,  and  I  make  no  effort 
to  preserve  my  consistency." 

"  Uncle,  you  are  a  saint.  You  belong  over 
the  altar  in  one  of  the  cathedrals.  It  is  for  us  to 
go  down  on  our  knees  before  you. — But  let  us 
begin  all  over  again !  I  was  wrong  myself,  first 
of  all,  in  promising  not  to  interrupt ;  secondly,  I 
was  wrong  in  keeping  my  promise ;  finally,  I  was 
wrong  not  to  put  a  stop  to  the  whole  argument 
by  announcing  that  I  was  determined  to  marry 
Blair  Fleming  whether  he  consented  or  not,  and 
no  matter  what  any  one  else  thought  about  it. 
T'here  !  That  's  my  confession  ! " 

"And  mine  is  this,"  said  Fleming,  tracing  a 
name  on  the  pavement  with  his  stick :  "  I  am  in 
love,  fathoms  deep  in  love,  and  I  have  no  strength 
to  resist.  Only  I  know  that  I  was  right  to  fight 
against  it,  and  I  know  that  the  Bishop's  first 
decision  was  just,  and  I  ought  to  abide  by  it." 

"  Now  that  is  a  paltry  assertion  of  your  pride," 
Anne  broke  in,  "and  not  a  confession  at  all. 
Besides,  you  agreed  to  be  bound  by  my  uncle's 


306     FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

final  decision,  and  a  man  cannot  take  back  his 
word.     That  is  a  woman's  privilege." 

"  Yes,  Fleming,"  said  the  Bishop,  smiling  and 
holding  out  his  hand,  having  taken  the  precau- 
tion to  turn  his  ring,  "  you  must  accept  the  inevi- 
table, and  the  inevitable  in  this  case  is  Anne. 
God  bless  you  both !  And  now,  for  pity's  sake, 
give  me  some  tea." 


XIX 

HIS  HEART'S  DESIRE 

"  He  that  loveth  silver  shall  not  be  satisfied  with  silver  ;  nor  he  that  loveth 
abundance  with  increase  :  this  is  also  vanity." 

P'TT  7HY  do  you  invite  Tom  Yates  to-night  ?'r 
V  V    the  Bishop  asked,  looking  up  from  his 
Procopius,  and  added :   "  He  does  not  belong 
with  this  set  of  people  at  all." 

"  I  have  two  reasons  for  asking  him,"  Mrs. 
Blythe  answered.  "I  can't  insult  any  one  else 
with  so  late  an  invitation,  and,  besides,  I  want 
Eunice  to  know  that  he  was  here.  She  is  so- 
patronizing  and  superior." 

"  But  she  is  really  superior  to  her  brother." 

"All  the  more  intolerable  in  her  to  make  it  so 
oppressive.  Tom  is  much  better  than  she,  except 
on  the  surface.  Besides,  the  note  has  gone." 

"  Then  how  easy  for  you  to  have  assented  to 
my  opinion  !  "  the  Bishop  commented. 

Anne  laughed.  They  understood  each  other 
these  two  —  in  spite  of  blood-relationship. 

307 


308     FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

Mr.  Thomas  Yates  had  an  excellent  opinion 
of  himself,  and  as  it  was  founded  on  thirty-five 
years  of  intimate  acquaintance,  it  was  certainly 
entitled  to  some  consideration;  yet  there  were 
intervals  when  his  confidence  waned  and  when 
he  found  that  a  familiar  environment  was  needed 
to  support  his  judgment. 

On  'Change  he  was  easily  a  leader,  and  experi- 
enced the  exhilaration  of  his  position ;  but  here, 
in  this  quiet  corner  of  the  Old  World,  he  felt 
bewildered  and  depressed  by  a  sense  of  inade- 
quacy to  things  which  he  looked  down  upon, 
and  yet  could  not  comprehend.  The  "  Girlan- 
dagoes"  and  "Jottos"  and  things  that  people 
over  here  pretended  to  find  so  interesting  irritated 
and  piqued  him  in  spite  of  himself,  like  a  blind 
pool  which  he  had  not  been  invited  to  enter,  and 
where  all  sorts  of  interesting  things  might  be  go- 
ing on,  if  he  could  only  discover  the  secret. 

The  Bishop  and  Fleming  also  added  uncon- 
sciously to  Yates's  irritation.  It  was  not  that 
they  underestimated  him,  but  that  he  saw  them 
measuring  him  by  unaccustomed  standards,  and 
ignoring  the  field  where  his  superiority  lay.  He 
longed  to  let  them  know  what  men  thought  of 
him  in  Broad  Street,  and  what  his  powers  were 
relatively  to  theirs  in  the  real  things  of  life.  To 
Yates  the  real  things  of  life  were  those  which 


HIS   HEART'S   DESIRE  309 

could  be  brought  to  the  practical  test  of  the  open 
market.  There  was  no  reality,  for  instance,  in 
the  bars  of  moonlight  which  lay  athwart  the  road 
leading  up  the  Fiesole  slope,  on  this  evening 
when  he  was  driving  to  Mrs.  Blythe's  dinner. 
There  was  no  reality  in  the  Campanile  rising 
above  Florence  like  the  stamen  of  a  lily;  still  less 
in  the  associations  which  clung  about  every  foot 
of  this  upward  way,  delicate  as  the  springtime 
scent  of  the  grape-vine.  For  him  they  simply 
did  not  exist.  His  mind  was  not  empty ;  but  it 
had  room  for  only  two  thoughts,  two  emotions  — 
the  love  of  money  and  the  love  of  Anne  Blythe. 

As  these  did  not  conflict,  neither  crowded  out 
the  other.  Rather,  they  seemed  to  intensify  each 
other.  Anne's  refusal  of  the  other  day  had  de- 
pressed him  at  the  time ;  but,  as  he  thought  it 
over,  he  concluded  that  it  need  not  be  considered 
final.  He  took  it  to  mean  simply  that  she  was 
not  ready  to  show  her  hand.  He  admired  her 
the  more  for  it. 

He  also  regretted  the  precipitancy  with  which 
he  had  declined  her  offer  of  a  loan.  Yesterday 
he  had  received  a  letter  from  his  partner  in  New 
York,  stating  that  the  firm  had  an  opportunity 
of  joining  a  syndicate  composed  of  the  chief 
financiers  of  the  city  in  an  underwriting  scheme, 
which,  if  they  could  engineer  it,  would  put  them 


310     FOUR   ROADS   TO    PARADISE 

in  the  front  rank  of  the  Street.  This  would  in- 
volve an  investment  of  four  or  five  hundred 
thousand  more  than  they  had  at  their  command. 
Could  Yates  make  any  arrangements  on  the 
other  side  *?  If  so,  profits  were  a  sure  thing,  and 
the  opening  for  the  future  might  lead  almost 
anywhere. 

The  letter  called  for  an  answer  by  cable,  and 
Yates  had  made  up  his  mind  to  reopen  the  sub- 
ject with  Anne  when  he  received  a  note  asking 
him  to  come  to  dinner  that  evening  with  the 
Hawtree  Campbells,  who  were  leaving  Florence 
-suddenly.  He  was  not  deceived  by  the  "sud- 
denly," and  realized  that  he  was  probably  an 
<eleventh-hour  substitute.  Moreover,  it  did  not 
suit  his  plans ;  but  he  was  a  man  accustomed  to 
grasping  the  skirts  of  unhappy  as  well  as  happy 
chance,  and  not  letting  go  even  if  the  gathers 
ripped.  He  was  determined  to  make,  if  he 
could  not  find,  an  opportunity  for  speaking  alone 
with  Mrs.  Blythe.  With  this  in  mind,  he  had 
intended  to  be  the  earliest  guest,  and  he  was  dis- 
mayed, as  he  crossed  the  marble  hall,  to  see 
Fleming's  tall  figure  passing  through  the  velvet 
curtains  of  the  salon. 

Luck  was  certainly  against  him,  for  though 
Mrs.  Blythe  greeted  him  graciously,  she  at  once 
turned  him  over  to  the  Bishop,  and  the  Bishop 


HIS   HEART'S   DESIRE          311 

was  in  a  talkative  mood.  Having  filled  his  urn 
with  erudition,  he  found  it  heavy  and  wished  to 
pour  it  out  on  the  first  comer. 

"  I  have  been  reading  Procopius  lately,"  he 
began  before  they  were  fairly  seated.  "  A  chance 
reference  of  his  to  Fiesole  set  me  to  studying  its 
history  with  some  assiduity,  and  every  day  shows 
me  more  and  more  how  many  secrets  are  held  in 
the  hand  of  this  old  nurse  of  Florence." 

"No  doubt,"  echoed  Yates,  indifferently, 
watching  meanwhile  the  turn  of  Anne's  shoulder 
against  the  velvet  curtains. 

"  Yes,"  the  Bishop  went  on.  "  Her  secrets  run 
back  beyond  the  dawn  of  European  civilization. 
I  should  think  for  a  scholar  there  would  be  an 
immense  fascination  in  the  effort  to  decipher  the 
Etruscan  language." 

"I  'da  deal  rather  know  Spanish,"  Yates  an- 
nounced. "  What  with  South  America  and 
Cuba  and  Manila  and  Porto  Rico,  every  Ameri- 
can business  man  has  got  to  have  some  acquain- 
tance with  Spanish ;  and  why  should  he  want  to 
give  up  his  life  to  learning  a  dialect  that  's  only 
spoken  in  a  little  place  like  this  *?  " 

"  Etruscan,"  said  the  Bishop,  leniently,  "  is  not 
spoken  anywhere.  It  is  not  even  read  or  under- 
stood. It  is  the  deadest  kind  of  a  dead  lan- 
guage." 


312     FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

"  Then  none  of  it  for  me,"  Yates  responded 
with  some  defiance  in  his  tone.  "  I  hate  a  dead 
language.  I  like  things  that  are  alive  and  up  to 
date.  No,  sir;  for  my  part,  I  'd  rather  do  some- 
thing big  to-day,  and  let  the  thirtieth-century  boy 
read  about  it,  and  astonish  the  school  by  quoting 
the  things  I  used  to  say." 

The  Bishop  blandly  repressed  a  smile,  and  ob- 
served that  it  certainly  would  be  interesting  to  be 
a  great  man  in  any  age. 

"  Surely,"  said  Yates.  "  I  'd  like  to  have  been 
a  David  or  Solomon,  or  some  of  those  old  kings 
of  Israel."  Then  with  a  sudden  recollection  of 
the  frailties  of  these  heroes,  he  added  :  "  Of  course 
I  should  not  wish  to  bow  the  knee  to  Balaam  as 
they  did." 

This  struck  Yates  as  a  happy  quotation,  espe- 
cially in  view  of  his  company. 

The  Bishop's  eye  twinkled,  but  his  voice  was 
grave  as  he  answered : 

"  Perhaps  if  you  did,  Balaam  would  get  on 
better.  But  I  must  not  monopolize  you.  There 
is  one  of  Lady  Campbell's  daughters  in  the  cor- 
ner. Let  us  go  to  her." 

Before  he  could  shake  himself  free,  Yates  was 
literally  cornered  by  the  plain  young  lady  in 
yellow,  and  could  console  himself  only  by  the  ex- 
cellent view  of  Anne  which  his  position  gave 


HIS   HEART'S   DESIRE  313 

him.  "  She  is  not  really  handsome,"  he  declared ; 
*'  it  is  only  the  way  she  carries  her  head  and  her 
general  air  of  owning  the  room  and  the  com- 
pany." 

Yates  was  right.  Anne's  manner  was  labeled 
bors  concours,  like  the  pictures  in  the  exhibitions, 
and  signified  that  it  was  his  own  merits  rather 
than  hers  which  were  being  decided  by  her 
neighbor's  estimate. 

Manners  are  acquired,  and  therefore  are  much 
the  same  in  the  same  grade  of  society  the  world 
over.  Manner,  on  the  contrary,  is  individual, 
the  unconscious  expression  of  the  personality. 
One  learns  much  from  it  if  one  observes  carefully. 

When  dinner  was  announced,  Yates  saw  his 
star  brightening  as  he  took  his  place  on  one  side 
of  his  hostess.  To  be  sure,  it  had  not  fallen  to 
him  to  take  her  in ;  but  that  he  could  not  expect 
when  there  were  two  English  lords  and  an  Italian 
Personage  present.  He  could  not  know  by  in- 
tuition that  Anne  would  not  trust  him  too  far 
away  from  her  controlling  hand. 

Yates  was  a  true  republican  and  valued  self- 
made  money  above  inherited  rank;  yet  he  re- 
alized that  noblesse  must  be  obliged,  and,  to  tell  the 
truth,  felt  somewhat  honored  by  sitting  next  but 
one  to  a  Personage.  He  would  have  liked  to 
join  in  the  conversation,  but  being  quite  at  sea 


314     FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

as  to  how  an  Italian  dignitary  of  that  altitude 
should  he  addressed,  he  was  obliged  to  turn  his 
attention  to  the  young  lady  on  his  other  side. 

Now  and  then  Mrs.  Blythe  had  a  word  or  a 
smile  for  him ;  but  they  always  seemed  to  make 
a  closure  rather  than  an  opening  of  conversation. 
The  Personage,  on  the  other  side,  undoubtedly 
received  more  than  his  share  of  his  hostess's 
attention,  and  repaid  it  with  a  marked  devotion. 

Yates's  courage  sank,  and  he  found  himself 
compelled  to  admit  that  Anne  would  fit  well  in 
a  palace. 

In  his  discouragement  he  turned  with  a  mis- 
leading air  of  interest  to  his  neighbor,  a  little 
American  girl  in  pink. 

"  You  have  just  come  from  Rome  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  we  have  been  there  all  winter.  I  love 
Rome,  there  's  so  much  going  on.  It  's  like  a 
three-ring  circus.  You  want  to  watch  everything 
at  once,  and  you  can't." 

"  Lots  of  malaria  there  this  spring,  is  n't  there  *?  " 

"  No,  I  think  not ;  that  is,  not  in  the  high  parts 
of  the  city;  and  if  one  is  prudent  —  but  we 
knew  of  a  sad  case,  a  man  who  sat  next  to  me  — 
I  always  talk  to  people  at  table  d'hote ;  do  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  except  to  English  people :  they  are  so 
patronizing;  and  the  French  and  Germans  and 
Italians  I  can't  understand." 


HIS   HEART'S   DESIRE  315 

*'  Well,  my  friend  was  an  American.  All  his 
life  he  'd  been  crazy  to  see  Rome ;  but  he  never 
could  go  because  he  was  so  prosperous." 

**  How  American ! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Blythe. 

"Yes,  was  n't  it?  But  last  winter  his  health 
broke  down,  and  the  doctor  ordered  him  abroad. 
His  wife  could  n't  leave  the  baby,  so  he  came 
alone." 

The  little  pink  lady  was  growing  as  flushed  as 
her  gown  in  the  excitement  of  her  narrative,  when, 
to  her  mortification,  she  discovered  that  Yates's 
eyes  were  fixed  on  the  bread  he  was  crumbling 
and  that  his  attention  was  wandering.  Anne 
perceived  it  at  the  same  moment,  and  having  a 
gift  for  keeping  all  the  threads  of  conversation  in 
her  hands,  she  now  leaned  forward  with  a  quick 
look  of  interest  which  should  have  abashed  Yates. 

"  Do  go  on ! "  she  exclaimed.  "  I  should  love 
to  hear  how  Europe  looks  to  a  middle-aged 
American  who  sees  it  for  the  first  time.  Was 
your  friend  in  raptures  ?  " 

"  Not  he ! "  the  pink  lady  responded  with  re- 
newed animation.  "  He  was  the  most  homesick 
man  you  ever  saw.  He  shut  himself  up  and 
looked  at  his  family  photographs  all  day,  and  at 
night  he  could  n't  sleep,  so  he  used  to  get  up 
and  go  to  the  Colosseum  — " 
.  *'  Cb'  era  pazzo  !  "  murmured  the  Personage. 


316    FOUR  ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

"And  what  came  of  it?"  inquired  Mrs. 
Blythe,  as  if  her  life  hung  on  knowing. 

"  Oh,  it  ended  as  you  would  suppose.  He 
took  the  fever,  and  the  doctor  had  given  up  hope 
when  we  left." 

Mrs.  Blythe  sighed,  and  moved  her  salt-cellar. 

"  Poor  man !  He  should  have  consulted  Mr. 
Yates  before  he  left  home.  He  would  have  been 
told  that  there  is  nothing  outside  of  America 
worth  seeing." 

Before  Yates  could  protest,  Anne's  head  was 
turned,  and  her  conversation  with  the  Personage 
was  in  full  career. 

"It  always  seemed  to  me,"  she  said,  "that 
sacrifices  —  little  sacrifices,  I  mean  —  would  be 
easier  in  Rome  than  anywhere  else.  Where 
people  have  been  crucified  head-downward,  it 
seems  to  make  less  difference,  don't  you  know, 
what  clothes  we  wear  or  whether  people  call 
on  us." 

"  I  trust,"  said  the  Personage,  bending  forward 
and  dropping  his  voice,  "  that  you  will  not  think 
of  sacrifices  in  connection  with  my  city.  To  me 
it  might  be  the  most  beautiful  spot  in  the  world 
if—" 

Here  his  voice  dropped  still  lower,  so  that 
Yates  lost  the  connection.  Meanwhile  his  other 
neighbor,  vexed  by  his  indifference,  had  turned 


HIS   HEART'S   DESIRE          317 

away,  and  Yates  had  only  the  coldest  of  cold 
shoulders.  He  was  not  put  out  by  that.  On 
the  contrary,  he  contented  himself  with  worrying 
his  bread  with  one  hand  and  wringing  the  neck 
of  his  wine-glass  with  the  other,  while  he  looked 
up  and  down  the  length  of  the  table. 

Fleming  was  talking  with  Lady  Campbell, 
and  scraps  of  their  talk  floated  across  to  Yates. 
They  had  evidently  been  discussing  national 
types  of  beauty,  and  Fleming,  with  praiseworthy 
tact,  had  been  enlarging  on  the  charming  repose 
of  the  English. 

"  Repose,"  echoed  Lady  Campbell.  "  Yes,  I 
grant  you  that,  but  repose  may  be  carried  too 
far.  Our  looks  may  win  in  a  siege,  but  they  do 
not  carry  by  storm,  as  your  American  type  does. 
Now  there  is  Mrs.  Blythe." 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Blythe—" 

44  Yes,  I  know  what  you  are  going  to  say  — 
that  she  is  not  a  beauty  at  all.  Perhaps  not ;  but 
you  should  have  seen  her  at  the  court  ball  in 
Rome  last  January.  The  Romans  were  off  their 
heads  about  her." 

"  I  am  not  surprised ;  her  type  is  so  unlike 
anything  to  which  they  are  accustomed." 

**  Yes ;  she  will  make  a  sensation  if  she  ever 
goes  to  Rome  to  live,  and  it  begins  to  look  as  if 
it  were  quite  on  the  cards  of  fate."  As  she  spoke 


3i 8    FOUR  ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

Lady  Campbell  glanced  meaningly  toward  the 
end  of  the  table  where  the  Personage  was  lean- 
ing forward  with  eyes  intent  on  Mrs.  Blythe. 
Then  she  looked  quickly  at  Fleming,  and  said 
with  a  little  laugh :  "  Why  don't  you  pre- 
vent it?" 

"  I  never  play  against  fate,"  Fleming  replied 
calmly.  "  The  dice  are  loaded,  you  know." 

"Still — "  mused  Lady  Campbell. 

"Yes,  still — "  assented  Fleming. 

"  A  man  may  throw  away  his  chance  by  being 
too  distrustful  of  himself." 

"  Small  danger  of  that  for  most  of  us,"  Flem- 
ing responded.  "  It  has  often  struck  me  as  cu- 
rious that  there  never  was  a  man  who  wished  the 
woman  whom  he  loved  to  marry  a  man  unworthy 
of  her ;  there  never  was  a  man  who  thought  him- 
self worthy,  and  yet  there  never  was  one  who 
did  not  wish  to  marry  her.  Is  n't  it  inconsistent 
of  us?" 

Lady  Campbell  looked  rather  bewildered.  She 
never  knew  how  to  take  Mr.  Fleming,  much  as 
she  liked  him. 

A  few  moments  later  Mrs.  Blythe  gave  the 
rising  signal. 

Yates  moved  toward  the  portiere  and  held  it 
back  for  the  ladies.  As  Mrs.  Blythe  passed  him 
he  leaned  forward  and  said  in  a  low  tone : 


HIS   HEART'S   DESIRE          319 

"  May  I  see  you  alone  for  a  few  moments  ?  " 

"  Is  it  necessary  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"Can't  it  wait?" 

"  I  'm  afraid  not.     The  cable  office  closes  — " 

"  Then  go  to  the  white-and-gold  room  at  the 
end  of  the  hall,  and  I  will  come  when  I  have 
settled  these  people  in  the  drawing-room." 

Yates  followed  her  and  strode  along  the  hall 
to  the  reception-room,  where  he  stood  nervously 
turning  over  photographs  on  the  onyx  table  and 
wondering  if  Anne  would  never  come.  At  last 
he  heard  three  or  four  heavy  chords  on  the  piano, 
then  a  light,  quick  step  on  the  marble  floor,  and 
Anne  stood  in  the  doorway. 

"  I  can  give  you  just  five  minutes,"  she  said, 
with  a  glance  at  the  clock  on  the  mantel. 

"  I  must  be  quick,  then,"  said  Yates,  trying  to 
force  a  smile.  "  It  's  about  —  about  that  loan 
you  offered  me  the  other  day,  Anne." 

"Yes,  yes;  and  you  have  thought  better  of 
your  refusal,  like  a  sensible  man.  Tell  me  for 
what  amount  I  shall  draw  a  check,  and  you  will 
get  it  to-morrow  morning,  and  then  you  will 
promise  me  not  to  go  to  Monte  Carlo  again, 
won't  you  ?  " 

"  It  's  no  question  of  Monte  Carlo,  Anne,  and 
it  's  no  gambling  debt,  as  you  seem  determined 


320     FOUR  ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

to  believe.  It  is  not  a  loan  so  much  as  an  invest- 
ment. If  I  had  an  hour,  instead  of  five  minutes, 
I  could  explain  it  all;  but  as  it  is,  I  must  ask 
you  to  take  my  word  for  it  that  it 's  all  right  and 
that  you  shall  be  secured.  All  I  ask  to-night  is 
your  consent,  and  the  money  need  n't  be  depos- 
ited until  I  've  had  time  to  explain ;  but  it 's  a 
thundering  big  sum." 

"  How  much  ?  " 

"  Half  a  million  dollars." 

Anne  walked  to  the  window  and  stood  look- 
ing out  into  the  night. 

"  I  was  afraid  you  'd  take  it  that  way,"  said 
Yates,  following  her.  "  I  knew  it  was  too  much 
to  ask." 

"  No,  Tom,  it  is  n't  that.  You  don't  under- 
stand. I  can't  pretend  to  lend  you  the  money, 
for  it's  all  going  to  be  yours  when  —  when  I 
marry.  It  will  atone,  won't  it  ?  " 

"  Good  God,  Anne,  you  don't  mean  it !  " 

Anne  bowed  her  head.  Her  cheeks  were 
scarlet. 

"  It  's  the  Italian,  of  course." 

"  It  is  Mr.  Blair  Fleming.  You  '11  wish  me 
good  luck,  won't  you,  Tom,  and  we  '11  be  cousins 
and  good  friends  still*?  " 

Yates  stood  staring  at  her  blankly. 

Mrs.  Blythe  grew  impatient. 


HIS   HEART'S  DESIRE          321 

"  Come,  Tom,"  she  exclaimed, "  the  music  has 
stopped,  and  I  must  go  back ;  but  before  I  go,  I 
insist  on  your  shaking  hands  with  me." 

She  came  forward  with  a  sweet  impetuousness, 
holding  out  both  hands.  He  took  them,  and 
stooping,  kissed  them  again  and  again  and  again. 
Then  he  dropped  them  and  looked  stonily  after 
her  as  she  passed  out  at  the  door. 

After  Anne  had  left  him,  Yates  stood  for  a 
time  silent  and  stunned,  his  face  pale,  his  lips 
twitching.  Then  he  made  his  way  down  the  hall 
with  no  attempt  at  a  farewell  to  the  party  in  the 
drawing-room,  took  his  hat  from  the  hands  of  a 
servant  at  the  door,  and  flung  himself  into  the 
waiting  carriage.  The  plunge  into  the  silence 
and  darkness  without  was  grateful  to  his  senses. 
He  wished  vaguely  that  the  drive  could  last  for- 
ever. He  folded  his  arms  and  stared  into  the 
dim  distance,  yet  do  what  he  would,  he  could  see 
nothing  but  Anne  Blythe's  face  radiant  and  ap- 
pealing. 

He  was  aware  of  a  swelling  of  the  veins  in  his 
neck,  of  a  dull  throbbing  in  his  head,  of  a  load 
on  his  chest ;  then  like  a  drowning  man  he  saw 
the  panorama  of  his  life  stretched  out  before  him ; 
but  instead  of  the  past,  it  was  the  future  which 
rose  and  mocked  him.  With  such  a  start  and 
his  financial  ability,  his  career  was  assured:  his 


322    FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

name  would  travel  wherever  the  wires  flashed  the 
news  of  stocks  and  bonds ;  but  Anne  would  not 
care.  He  would  have  a  yacht;  but  she  would 
not  walk  its  decks.  He  would  give  fine  dinners ; 
but  she  would  never  sit  at  the  head  of  his  table. 
He  would  reckon  his  fortune  in  seven  or  eight 
figures ;  but  what  of  it  ?  He  felt  that  he  would 
give  it  all  for  one  kiss.  Never !  From  now  on 
Anne  was  dead  to  him !  He  began  to  think  of 
her  as  one  thinks  of  the  dead,  calling  up  each 
attitude,  each  trick  of  gesture  and  speech. 

She  had  been  by  no  means  the  only  woman  in 
his  life ;  but  it  must  be  counted  to  him  for  right- 
eousness that  he  saw  the  difference,  that  he  had 
given  his  coarse,  blundering  heart  to  the  best  he 
had  ever  known. 

Anne's  face  still  haunted  him.  If  it  were  to 
follow  him  like  this  wherever  he  went,  he  should 
go  mad.  How  should  he  get  rid  of  this  load  at 
his  heart,  with  that  face  before  him  ?  He  resolved 
to  think  of  other  things  —  the  fortune.  Ah,  there 
was  something  solid  and  tangible !  He  would 
think  of  that.  The  Blythe  millions  his — money, 
power,  everything  he  used  to  dream  of  within 
reach,  in  his  very  grasp.  He  should  be  a  fool  to 
let  a  woman  spoil  his  life.  If  only  he  could  for- 
get the  smile  playing  round  Anne's  lips  on  that 
day  of  their  walk  together  when  she  stretched  out 


HIS   HEART'S   DESIRE          323 

both  hands  to  him  and  said :  "  Now  we  are 
friends!" 

There  was  a  band  ot  iron  about  his  head,  and 
red  globules  danced  before  his  eyes.  He  resolved 
that  he  would  have  absinthe  when  he  reached  the 
hotel.  Absinthe  could  make  a  man  forget  such 
things ;  and  then  there  were  the  Blythe  millions. 
But  Anne  — 

"  To  hell  with  the  Blythe  millions ! " 


XX 

THE   MOVING    FINGER 

"  The  moving  finger  writes,  and  having  writ 
Moves  on  ;  nor  all  your  piety  nor  wit 

Shall  lure  it  back  to  cancel  half  a  line, 
Nor  all  your  tears  wash  out  a  word  of  it. ' ' 

A 5  the  first  rays  of  sunrise  touched  the  gild* 
ing  on  the  iron  gate  of  the  Villa  Piace- 
vole,  a  swiftly  driven  carriage  stopped  before 
the  gate,  and  a  messenger  pulled  at  the  bell 
with  a  haste  and  vigor  which  brought  heads  to 
all  the  windows. 

"  What  's  wanted  ?  "  Fleming's  voice  called 
out,  while  Giulio  was  still  fumbling  with  locks 
and  bolts. 

"  Some  one  is  ill  at  the  Grand  Hotel,"  answered 
a  voice  from  without.  "  We  found  a  card  in  his 
pocket.  Is  Bishop  Alston  here  ?  " 

"  Wait ;  I  '11  come  down  in  a  moment,"  the 
Bishop  responded,  and  lights  began  to  glimmer 
along  the  hallway  and  on  the  staircase.  All  the 
household  gathered  at  the  door,  the  Bishop  and 

324 


THE   MOVING   FINGER         325 

Fleming  hastily  buttoning  their  coats,  and  Anne 
in  her  wrapper  of  soft  white  wool. 

The  messenger's  story  was  soon  told.  Yates, 
on  his  return  to  the  hotel,  had  sat  drinking 
absinthe  in  the  smoking-room  till  he  had  sud- 
denly fallen  on  the  floor  in  what  they  thought  at 
first  was  a  drunken  stupor;  but  the  cut  on  his 
head  had  made  them  think  of  summoning  a 
physician.  The  doctor,  after  feeling  the  pulse 
and  looking  at  the  pupils  of  the  eyes,  had  shaken 
his  head  and  asked  if  the  man  had  friends  in 
Florence.  They  had  carried  Yates  to  his  room 
and  searched  his  clothing,  with  the  result  of 
finding  the  Bishop's  card,  and  at  the  glimmer  of 
dawn  they  had  sent  the  messenger.  He  had 
orders  to  bring  back  in  the  carriage  any  one  who 
wished  it. 

"  I  will  come,  of  course,"  the  Bishop  said, 
stepping  back  into  the  hall  and  reappearing  with 
his  hat  and  overcoat. 

"  I  will  be  with  you  in  a  minute,"  Flemingadded. 

"  And  I  shall  go,  too,"  said  Anne. 

"  On  the  contrary,"  Fleming  said,  **  you  will  go 
into  the  house,  put  on  warmer  clothing,  and  let 
Giulio  bring  you  hot  coffee  at  once." 

"  I  said,  I  think,  that  I  should  go  with  you," 
Anne  protested,  with  heightened  color. 

"  But  you  will  not." 


326     FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

"Why  not?" 

"  Because  your  common  sense  won't  let  you. 
It  tells  you  that  you  could  do  no  possible  good 
and  might  do  a  great  deal  of  harm,  to  say  nothing 
of  the  risk  to  yourself  in  this  chilly  morning  air. 
Remember,"  he  said  lower : 

"  'If  I  be  dear  to  some  one  else, 

Then  I  should  be  to  myself  more  dear.' 

You  will  stay  here  ¥" 

"  Yes,  I  will  stay." 

"  Thank  you,  and  pardon  me  if  I  spoke  per- 
emptorily. We  're  apt  to  when  we  care  so 
much.  I  shall  come  back  at  once,  and  if  there 
is  any  need  of  you  —  if  Yates  asks  for  you 
or  wishes  to  speak  with  you  —  I  will  take  you 
down." 

Fleming  sprang  into  the  carriage,  where  the 
Bishop  was  already  seated,  and  Anne  stood  look- 
ing after  them  as  they  rolled  away,  leaving  eddies 
of  white  dust  in  the  track  of  their  wheels.  When 
they  were  out  of  sight  she  turned  slowly  and  en- 
tered the  house.  She  went  up-stairs  and  per- 
mitted her  maid  to  dress  her  hair  and  lace  her 
gown.  Then  she  came  down  and  paced  up  and 
down  the  hall;  but  the  house  air  stifled  her. 
She  seized  a  long  cloak,  and  throwing  it  over 
her  shoulders,  stepped  out  once  more  on  the  ter- 


THE   MOVING   FINGER         327 

race  to  meet  the  glory  of  the  sunrise,  which 
seemed  an  insult  to  the  grief  in  her  heart.  It 
was  the  old  story  : 

"  How  can  ye  chaunt,  ye  little  birds, 
And  I  sae  weary,  full  of  care  ! " 

For  the  first  time  Anne  Blythe  was  profoundly 
moved  by  a  sorrow  not  her  own,  and  it  marked 
an  epoch  in  her  life.  But,  as  with  most  epochs, 
there  had  been  a  period  of  unconscious  prep- 
aration going  on  in  her  mind.  It  was  as 
Fleming  fancied  long  ago  in  his  walk  through  the 
rain,  when  he  had  analyzed  Mrs.  Blythe's  charac- 
ter and  hazarded  a  guess  as  to  the  influences  to 
which  she  might  owe  its  development.  "  A  great 
affection,"  he  had  said,  "  would  do  it."  A  great 
affection  had  done  it.  Already  she  was  learn- 
ing to  see  life  through  the  magnifying-lens  of 
Fleming's  larger  nature :  she  was  learning  that 
desire  of  discipline  which  had  been  so  alien  to 
her  a  year  ago,  and  she  was  ready  to  accept  her 
share  of  those  mutual  responsibilities  which  bind 
society  together. 

But  her  interests  were  still  profoundly  personal 
and  intensely  individual.  It  was  the  thought  of 
Tom  and  his  suffering  on  her  account  which 
now  knocked  importunately  at  her  heart  and 
would  not  be  put  aside.  She  gave  herself  up 


328     FOUR  ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

freely  to  the  reproaches  of  her  conscience  as  she 
recalled  the  scene  of  the  night  before  in  the 
white-and-gold  room.  She  realized  now  with 
what  a  shock  her  announcement  must  have 
come  upon  Tom  Yates.  Things  which  vitally 
affect  our  own  lives  come  quickly  to  seem 
part  of  history,  and  in  Anne's  mind  her  en- 
gagement to  Fleming  was  already  old,  part  of 
the  calm  order  of  things,  when  she  confided 
it  so  lightly  to  Yates.  Now  for  the  first  time 
she  put  herself  in  his  place  and  fancied  Fleming 
telling  her  in  such  a  way  of  his  love  for  another 
woman.  "  Oh,  did  it  hurt  Tom  like  that  ?  "  she 
wondered. 

If  Tom  died  now,  could  she  ever  forgive  her- 
self? She  would  be  to  blame,  not  for  wilful 
cruelty,  perhaps,  but  for  a  self-absorption  which 
would  not  let  her  enter  into  the  sufferings  of  an- 
other, and  she  had  promised  such  a  little  while 
ago  to  stand  by  him  in  any  trouble !  She  had 
boasted  that  she  had  it  in  her  to  be  as  good  a  friend 
as  a  man,  and  when  it  was  put  to  the  proof  she 
had  failed  him  like  this. 

She  flung  her  trouble  into  the  smiling  face  of 
the  dawn,  and  with  aching  eyes  watched  the 
coming  of  day.  There  is  a  solemnity  in  sunrise 
far  beyond  that  of  sunset.  The  savage  did  well 
to  fear  the  dark  whence  his  foe  might  leap  out 


THE   MOVING   FINGER         329 

to  bury  the  hatchet  in  his  sleeping  brain;  but  for 
us,  whose  perils  spring  from  within,  the  danger 
begins  with  waking,  and  it  would  be  fitting  for 
us  to  offer  up  petitions  to  the  rising  sun,  that 
while  his  beams  shone  we  might  be  kept  from 
folly  and  gluttony,  from  falsehood  and  treach- 
ery, from  lust  of  the  eye  and  pride  of  life ;  that 
we  might  be  wise  to  guard  against  the  enemy 
who  comes  in  the  guise  of  friendship,  and  to 
bare  our  hearts  to  the  friend  who  wounds  us  in 
the  name  of  truth ;  that  we  might  go  forth  to 
meet  our  lives  with  a  tender  heart  and  a  tough 
courage,  and  lay  us  down  at  night  feeling  that 
the  world  is  no  worse  off  for  the  day  that  we 
have  spent  in  it. 

How  long  Anne  sat  communing  alone  with 
her  conscience  in  the  chilly  morning  she  could 
not  have  told.  Giulio  brought  her  coffee,  and 
she  swallowed  it  eagerly.  Then  she  wheeled 
her  chair  about  that  she  might  catch  the  first 
glimpse  of  Fleming  on  his  return.  With  the 
thought  of  him  light  began  to  dawn  on  her 
mood.  She  strove  loyally  to  cling  to  her  mel- 
ancholy, but  it  was  like  a  night  trying  to  be 
dark  when  the  moon  had  risen.  His  image 
would  break  through  the  gloom.  She  longed 
for  him.  She  deeply  desired  to  lay  her  head 
against  his  shoulder  and  be  comforted;  yet 


330     FOUR  ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

when  he  came  at  last  she  did  not  advance  to 
meet  him,  but  held  herself  away.  It  was  her 
little  reparation. 

As  usual,  however,  self-sacrifice  demanded  its 
revenges;  virtue,  with  most  of  us,  being  like  a 
rubber  ball  which  if  pressed  upward  too  hard  in 
one  place  is  bound  to  sink  down  in  another. 
There  was  a  distinctly  petulant  note  in  Anne's 
tone  as  she  exclaimed,  questioning  Fleming's  face 
with  eager  eyes: 

"  Tell  me  all  about  him  quickly,  and  don't 
look  so  calm  !  He  is  not  going  to  die  —  say  he 
is  not ! " 

"  No ;  he  is  in  no  immediate  danger." 

"  Oh,  how  glad  I  am  ! "  sighed  Anne,  with  a 
gasp  of  relief;  but  Fleming  continued : 

"  Perhaps,  poor  fellow,  death  would  be  the 
best  thing." 

Anne's  face  paled.  The  hope  of  atonement 
which  had  risen  joyous  in  her  heart  fell  back  be- 
fore the  sadness  of  Fleming's  tone. 

"  What  does  the  doctor  say  *?  "  she  asked. 

"  He  talks  of '  acute  primary  dementia.' " 

Anne  tapped  her  slippered  foot  impatiently  on 
the  brick  pavement. 

"Dear  me!"  she  exclaimed.  "What  do  I 
know  or  care  about  a  lot  of  technical  words  like 
that  ?  Oh,  why  can't  a  man  tell  you  the  story  of 


TftE   MOVING   FINGER         331 

what  happened  as  a  woman  would,  so  you  feel 
as  if  you  'd  been  there  *?  " 

"  Perhaps,"  suggested  Fleming,  lightly,  not 
suspecting  the  underlying  causes  of  Anne's  irri- 
tation —  "  perhaps  because  he  is  more  hampered 
by  the  facts." 

"  Facts ! "  exclaimed  Anne,  scornfully.  "  Facts 
are  just  bones.  If  you  wanted  to  see  a  flesh-and- 
blood  human  being,  would  you  thank  any  one  to 
show  you  a  skeleton  ?  " 

"  More  than  I  should  thank  him  to  show  me 
a  creature  of  his  imagination  when  I  wished  ta 
know  about  the  real  thing." 

"  Well,  well,  never  mind  about  that.  Just 
begin  and  tell  as  clearly  as  you  can  from  the 
beginning  when  you  started  in  the  carriage." 

"  I  don't  remember  much,  dear,  I  really  donX 
except  that  we  drove  very  fast  and  that  the 
Bishop  talked  most  of  the  time  about  Yates." 

"  I  am  sure  he  said  something  unkind.  He 
never  liked  Tom,  never  appreciated  him,  never 
was  even  fair  to  him." 

Anne  spoke  resentfully,  eager  as  we  all  are  at 
times  to  turn  into  any  other  channel  the  stream 
of  reproach  which  is  setting  too  insistently  inward 
upon  ourselves. 

"No,"  Fleming  answered;  "the  Bishop  spoke 
kindly  enough.  He  said  Yates  was  what  some 


332     FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

one  called  Pepys,  '  a  pollard  man ' ;  that  is,  that 
the  higher  aspirations  had  been  lopped  off,  but 
that  the  lower  faculties  flourished  all  the  more 
abundantly." 

"  I  don't  call  that  very  kind.  I  should  n't  like 
it  said  of  me.  But  never  mind  any  more  about 
the  drive.  Did  you  see  Tom  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  saw  him." 

*'  Did  he  recognize  you  ?    Did  he  ask  for  me  *?  " 

"  No ;  he  was  speechless  and  utterly  unaffected 
by  everything  going  on  around  him." 

"  How  did  he  look  <? " 

"The  impression  was  too  painful.  I  would 
rather  not  dwell  upon  it  —  least  of  all  with  you," 
he  added  to  himself]  as  he  noted  Anne's  twitching 
fingers  and  strained  voice. 

"  What  did  the  doctor  say  of  the  future  ?  " 

"  Nothing  definite.  In  fact,  he  said  he  did  n't 
know,  which  really  gave  me  some  confidence  in 
him." 

"  Oh,  yes ;  he  was  looking  after  his  reputation, 
and  what  was  our  peace  of  mind  compared  with 
that!" 

"  I  am  afraid,"  Fleming  answered  gravely, 
*'  that  there  would  have  been  very  little  peace  of 
mind  for  Yates's  friends  to  be  had  from  the  doc- 
tor's opinion  of  probabilities.  He  asked  many 
questions  of  the  Bishop  and  me.  Some  of  them 


THE   MOVING   FINGER         335 

we  could  not  answer;  but  when  he  heard  that 
there  was  insanity  in  the  family,  that  Yates's  father 
and  grandfather  had  died  in  an  asylum,  he  shook 
his  head  discouragingly." 

"  But  it  came  so  suddenly." 

"  It  seems  so  to  us,"  Fleming  answered,  "  but 
the  doctor  thinks  that  the  tendency  may  have 
lurked  in  his  system  for  a  long  while." 

"  But  he  was  quite  himself  last  night,  was  n't 
he?" 

"That  was  one  of  the  questions  which  the  doctor 
asked.  He  thought  that  the  excitement  of  Yates's 
stock-exchange  life  combined  with  his  drinking 
habits  must  have  laid  the  foundation  for  this  — 
that  it  would  have  come  ultimately,  anyway; 
but  he  asked  if  we  knew  of  any  shock  which 
would  have  precipitated  it.  Any  sudden  grief  or 
terror,  he  said,  might  have  accounted  for  it." 

Anne  bowed  her  head  upon  her  hands,  and  the 
long-restrained  tears  burst  out. 

"Blair,"  she  cried,  "it  was  my  fault  —  all 
mine  !  If  he  dies,  I  have  killed  him." 

Fleming  looked  at  her  anxiously  and  moved  a 
step  nearer  her ;  but  she  motioned  him  away. 

**  I  told  him  last  night  that  I  was  going  to 
marry  you  —  told  him  lightly,  with  no  warning 
and  with  no  explanation.  Just  because  a  few 
people  were  waiting  for  me  in  the  drawing-room 


336     FOUR  ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

I  went  away  and  left  him.  Oh,"  she  sobbed,  "  I 
was  selfish  and  cruel,  and  now  I  can  never  tell 
him  how  sorry  I  am." 

Fleming  crossed  the  terrace  with  a  determined 
gentleness  which  would  not  be  repelled. 

"  My  darling,"  he  said,  putting  his  arm  close 
about  her,  "  we  will  be  sorry  together." 


XXI 

IL    PARADISINO 
"  One  only  entered  in  peace." 

A  •  AHEY  were  sitting,  he  and  she,  on  the  steps 
J.  of  "  II  Paradisino,"  the  little  hermitage 
above  Vallombrosa  and  the  monastery,  over- 
looking a  wide  stretch  of  Tuscan  landscape. 
They  had  been  married  for  a  month,  and  still 
they  found  it  absorbingly  interesting  to  be  alone 
together,  from  which  we  must  infer  that  they 
were  both  very  happy  and  very  foolish ;  for  if 
two  people  are  really  one,  why  should  they  be 
less  dull  together  than  when  alone  ? 

Fleming  broke  the  silence  which  had  fallen 
between  them. 

"  Anne,"  he  said,  "  are  you  sure  that  you  never 
regret  giving  up  that  money?  " 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  regret  it  frequently." 

"Much?" 

"  Very  much  indeed  ! " 

Fleming's  face  clouded. 
337 


338     FOUR  ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

"  I  was  afraid  of  it,"  he  said. 

"  Now  you  are  silly,  and  it  pleases  me  to  see 
that  you  can  be  as  silly  as  any  man  when  you 
start.  I  said  that  I  regretted  the  money.  I 
never  said  I  regretted  the  choice  between  the 
money  and  you.  That  you  know  I  don't.  But 
if  you  expected  virtuous  sentiments  about  the 
joys  of  poverty  — " 

"  Poverty,  Anne  *?  I  don't  call  it  quite  that, 
do  you "?  " 

"Say  respectable  mediocrity,  then,  which  is 
worse.  If  you  wished  creditable  phrases  turned 
out  to  order  on  the  subject,  you  should  have 
married  Eunice  Yates." 

"  Eunice  Yates ! " 

"Yes;  there  was  a  time  when  I  think  she 
would  have  taken  you,  I  truly  do ;  but  that  was 
before  Stuart  Walford  began  to  make  love  to 
her." 

"When  do  you  think  that  sentiment  of  his 
began?" 

"Oh,  more  or  less  the  first 'time  he  saw  her 
there  at  the  villa." 

"  Then  !  Why,  it  was  after  that  that  he  spoke 
to  me  about  you  in  a  way  that  was  to  be  par- 
doned only  on  the  ground  of  desperate  jealousy." 

There  was  a  touch  of  cynicism  in  Anne's  smile 
as  she  answered : 


IL   PARADISINO  339 

"'He  consoled  himself  with  rhetoric.'" 

"  But  he  told  me  —  " 

"  Yes,  I  dare  say  he  did ;  but  men  sometimes 
change  their  minds  suddenly,  and  when  they 
choose  they  can  stop  a  love-affair  in  its  own 
length,  like  a  train  of  cars." 

"  Walford  is  a  —  well,  never  mind  what  he  is. 
He  has  gone  over  to  the  world  of  shams  for  good." 

"  Or  for  bad,"  interpolated  Anne ;  "  but  if  he 
had  married  me  I  should  have  taken  the  rhetoric 
out  of  him,  and  there  might  have  been  something 
worth  while  left.  He  was  real  once." 

"  I  am  afraid,"  said  Fleming,  reaching  out  and 
taking  Anne's  hand  in  his  —  "  I  am  afraid  that  I 
am  not  enough  of  an  altruist  to  wish  him  saved 
at  chat  price ;  but,  on  the  whole,  he  is  well 
matched  with  Eunice  Yates,  for  she,  too,  is  a 
sham,  a  shadow,  with  no  tactile  value.  It  con- 
soles me,  at  any  rate,  for  the  poor  marriage  which 
you  are  making  that  you  might  have  done  worse. 
Walford  would  really  have  been  about  the  worst 
you  could  do.  Upon  my  soul,  I  'd  rather  have 
seen  you  married  to  Yates — yes,  drinking  and 
all." 

"  Poor  Tom !  I  might  have  saved  him,  per- 
haps. I  shall  never  forgive  myself —  never." 

"  My  dear,  when  a  man  starts  for  the  devil 
with  a  bottle  of  absinthe  in  his  hand  he  is  likely 


340     FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

to  arrive  in  spite  of  all  the  female  influence  and 
that  sort  of  thing  which  could  be  set  to  work 
tugging  at  his  coat-tails.  I  don't  like  the  last 
news  I  had  of  him  in  Newton's  letter  a  few  days 
ago." 

"A  letter  from  Dr.  Newton"?  Why  did  n't 
you  show  it  to  me  ?  " 

"  I  could  not.  It  was  so  sad,  and  we  were  so 
happy,  I  could  not  make  it  fit  into  our  mood." 

"  Then  George  is  worse  ?  " 

"He  does  n't  say  that.  In  fact,  he  says  we 
should  see  little  change  in  him,  that  he  can  sit  up, 
and  plays  with  the  dog;  but  you  can  read  be- 
tween the  lines  that  he  has  no  hope.  A  man  like 
Newton  knows  too  much  of  disease  ever  to  shut 
his  eyes  when  they  have  been  once  fully  opened. 
I  never  read  so  melancholy  a  letter  as  he  writes." 

"  What  did  he  say  of  Tom  ?  " 

"  He  speaks  of  seeing  Yates  and  says  that  he 
was  looking  badly.  I  'm  sorry  for  the  poor  fellow, 
but  I  think  you  idealize  him  a  good  deal.  All 
that  has  come  to  him  would  have  come  in  the 
end  anyway.  *  A  man  cannot  escape  that  which 
is  written  on  his  forehead.' " 

"  I  don't  suppose,"  said  Anne,  "  that  I  could 
make  you  understand  the  tenderness  which  I  feel 
for  Tom.  It  's  partly  vanity,  but  it  's  partly 
gratitude,  too.  I  do  think  he  really  cared  for  me, 


IL   PARADISINO  341 

though  he  got  me  sadly  mixed  up  with  the  dol- 
lars and  cents,  and  if  he  had  married  me  I  should 
very  soon  have  subsided  into  a  mere  episode. 
Money  was  the  master  passion  of  his  life." 

Anne  leaned  back  and  clasped  her  hands  be- 
hind her  head. 

"  Blair,"  she  said  at  length,  musingly,  "  have 
you  any  philosophy  of  life  *?  " 

Fleming  turned  and  looked  at  her. 

"  You  are  very  lovely  so,  with  those  filmy 
white  muslin  sleeves  falling  from  your  arms. 
They  make  such  a  good  background  for  your  face." 

"  Now  you  are  trying  to  put  me  off  with  a 
compliment ;  but  I  really  want  to  know." 

"Don't  you  think  it  seems  a  little  absurd  to 
undertake  to  formulate  a  system  of  philosophy  in 
ten  minutes,  and  here  of  all  places,  where  nature 
is  saying, '  Stop  thinking !  It 's  poor  sport.  Stop 
and  enjoy '  ?  " 

"  But  I  don't  ask  you  to  make  up  a  philosophy 
on  the  spot.  I  want  to  know  if  you  Ve  had  one 
all  these  years." 

" '  Philosophy  of  life  "?  What  do  you  mean  by 
that  *?  "  Fleming  asked  more  seriously,  leaning 
his  elbow  on  his  knee  and  resting  his  chin  on  the 
palm  of  his  hand. 

"  Satisfactory  way  of  accounting  for  every- 
thing." 


342     FOUR  ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

"  Why,  no.  I  have  no  theory  of  how  we  came 
into  this  world,  nor  of  what  governs  our  passage 
through  it,  nor  of  what  is  to  become  of  us  when  we 
are  done  with  it.  I  long  ago  closed  the  book  of 
the  Unknowable  and  ceased  to  bother  with  it." 

"  But  you  must  have  some  practical  working 
creed." 

"  Oh,  if  you  mean  that — " 

"  Yes,  that 's  just  what  I  do  mean." 

*'  Well,  then,  I  believe  that,  finding  ourselves 
here,  it  is  our  clear  duty  to  add  something  to  the 
sum  of  human  happiness."  . 

"Go  on,"  Anne  said,  withdrawing  her  hands 
from  her  head  and  leaning  forward.  "  What  else 
do  you  believe  in  ?  " 

"  I  believe  (this  is  a  confession  of  faith,  mind 
you,  and  not  of  practice)  —  I  believe  in  hating 
cant  and  sham  in  our  neighbors  and  ourselves,  es- 
pecially in  ourselves,  and  in  not  permitting  our- 
selves to  cherish  any  fine  sentiments  which  we  do 
not  work  out  in  action.  I  believe  in  cultivating 
a  sense  of  proportion,  seeing  large  things  large 
and  small  things  small,  doing  our  work  squarely 
for  the  work's  sake,  and  merging  what  pride  we 
have  in  the  achievements  of  the  race,  which  are 
really  most  creditable  to  us  pygmies." 

"  And  how  about  heaven  *?  " 

"  There  again  you  have  me.     If  you  mean  a 


IL   PARADISINO  343 

literal  New  Jerusalem,  I  have  no  views  at  all. 
If  you  mean  heaven  as  another  name  for  happi- 
ness, that  's  a  different  matter." 

"  Well,  take  it  so." 

"  If  I  were  to  sum  up  my  idea  of  heaven  in 
that  sense,  it  would  be  a  harmony  of  the  inner 
and  outer  worlds,  combined  with  a  cheerful  ac- 
ceptance of  our  limitations." 

"  Oh,  dear,"  protested  Anne,  "  I  don't  believe 
in  acceptance  of  our  limitations  at  all.  I  approve 
of  kicking  against  them  as  hard  as  we  can,  and 
climbing  as  well  as  kicking." 

Fleming  laughed. 

"  I  should  have  said  our  insurmountable  limi- 
tations," he  explained ;  "  but  I  remembered  your 
accusation  against  the  legal  mind  of  always  quali- 
fying a  truth  into  a  truism." 

Anne  looked  up  at  him  sidewise  out  of  smiling 
eyes. 

"  I  don't  see,"  she  said,  "  that  there  is  any  need 
of  me  in  your  heaven." 

"No  need  of  you.?  You  're  the  whole  thing. 
You  are  the  harmony.  *  Du  bist  die  Rub'  —  du 
bist  der  Frieden'  In  the  dull  old  times  before  I 
knew  you  I  accepted  my  own  limitations  cheer- 
fully enough  —  in  fact,  with  a  resignation  which 
no  one  but  myself  could  distinguish  from  com- 
placency; but  I  was  highly  impatient  with  the 


344     FOUR  ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

limitations  of  the  rest  of  the  world,  out  of  tune 
with  the  universe,  locked  up  in  Doubting  Castle, 
with  the  feeling  that  Giant  Despair  might  make 
a  meal  of  me  any  day.  Then  you  came  along 
and  turned  the  key  of  my  donjon  on  that  blessed 
day  at  Vincigliata,  and  ever  since  I  have  been  a 
free  man,  walking  the  Delectable  Mountains, 
with  Paradise  in  full  view." 

Again  Fleming  fell  into  silence.  Anne  opened 
her  purse  and  laid  a  soldo  on  his  knee. 

"  So  that  is  all  you  think  my  thoughts  are 
worth,  is  it  *?  "  asked  her  husband,  with  his  deep- 
chested  laugh.  "  Well,  perhaps  even  so  you  '11 
get  the  worst  of  the  bargain.  I  was  thinking  of  a 
talk  which  we  had  at  the  club  a  year  or  more  ago. 
Newton  was  there,  and  Yates,  and  then  Walford 
came  in.  How  it  happened  I  don't  remember, 
but  we  fell  to  talking  of  our  individual  ideal  of 
Paradise.  It  is  curious,  in  looking  back,  to  see 
how  the  success  and  failure  of  each  man  was 
foreshadowed  in  his  words  that  day  —  as  if 
the  germ  of  it  all  was  in  himself.  It  is  a  terrible 
thing,  Anne,  this  modern  idea  of  destiny,  which 
makes  it  not  some  malign  outside  power  doing 
spiteful  things  to  us,  but  the  slow  inevitable 
working  out  of  our  own  natures.  It  seems  to  be  of 
so  little  consequence  what  we  say  or  do,  when  what 
we  are  looms  above  us,  driving  us  on  to  our  fate." 


IL   PARADISINO  345 

44 What  were  their  ideals?"  Anne  asked,  ig- 
noring Fleming's  speculations. 

44 1  don't  know  that  I  could  restate  them  ex- 
actly. Newton  had  some  vague  idea  of  doing 
great  things  in  science  and  winning  recognition 
from  men  whose  approval  meant  something. 
Yates  wanted  money  —  nothing  vague  about 
him." 

"And  Mr.  Walford?" 

44  Influence  was  what  he  wanted  — 4  influence 
for  good,'  as  he  put  it." 

44  Dear  me!  so  I  was  n't  in  his  Paradise, either?  " 

"I  ignore  the  'either,'  having  already  refuted 
its  implication.  As  for  Mr.  Walford,  he  did  n't 
know  you  then.  It  was  just  before  Mr.  Blythe's 
funeral.  Probably  a  month  later  he  would  have 
said  :  '  Better  Eve  without  Paradise  than  Para- 
dise without  Eve  ! '  I  confess  /  have  less  sym- 
pathy with  Adam  than  I  used  to  have." 

44  It  is  strange,  is  n't  it,"  Anne  mused,  44  that  a 
single  year  should  have  brought  each  of  those 
men  the  wish  of  his  heart?" 

44  And  yet  now  he  has  it,  he  is  not  satisfied." 

"  Who  is  ?  " 

"Thackeray  asks  the  same  question  some- 
where. I  wish  I  had  him  here  to  show  him  his 
man.  /  am  utterly,  blissfully  contented;  and 
thou,  belovedest  ?  " 


346     FOUR   ROADS   TO   PARADISE 

Anne  drew  a  quick,  short  breath. 

"  I  am  so  happy,"  she  said,  "  that  I  don't  dare 
to  think  about  it.  I  know  how  a  great  singer 
must  feel  when  his  voice  is  in  the  very  height  of 
its  power  and  he  trembles  when  he  goes  on  the 
stage  lest  the  first  sound  may  show  a  tiny  flaw  in 
its  perfectness.  I  wish,"  she  added  slowly,  look- 
ing off  over  the  green  blur  of  the  tree-tops  —  "I 
wish  that  we  could  stay  here  always  and  need 
never  go  down  into  the  world  below." 

As  Anne  spoke,  a  sudden  sharp  little  wind 
sprang  up  and  lifted  the  ruffles  of  her  muslin 
sleeves.  She  shivered,  and  the  shiver  roused 
Fleming  to  the  sphere  of  practical  things. 

"On  the  contrary,"  he  said,  "we  must  go 
down  at  once.  The  tramontana  is  rising,  and 
your  gown  is  thin.  Besides,  the  Bishop  is  waiting 
patiently  at  the  Croce  di  Savoia  in  the  valley 
with  that  inevitable  tea-basket.  I  confess  I  don't 
share  his  taste.  Does  n't  it  strike  you,  Anne,  that 
tea  is  a  rather  mild  beverage  for  a  man  six  feet 
high  by  two  feet  wide  ?  When  I  think  how  far 
that  gentle  liquid  must  travel  before  it  can  reach 
the  nerves  which  it  aims  to  stimulate,  I  wonder 
at  its  courage  in  starting." 

"  You  have  n't  the  temperament  for  tea,  Blair. 
What  's  the  use  of  offering  you  '  the  cup  that 
cheers  but  not  inebriates'  if  you  will  insist  on  be- 


IL   PARADISINO  347 

ing  inebriated  before  you  consent  to  be  cheered  ? 
Well,  let  us  go,  since  we  must.  It  grows  harder 
and  harder  to  leave,  the  longer  we  stay  in  this  en- 
chanted spot." 

But  Anne  did  not  rise,  and  Fleming  leaned 
against  the  doorway  for  some  moments*,  looking 
down  at  her  with  delight  in  his  eyes.  At  last  he 
put  his  hand  in  his  pocket  and  dropped  a  lira 
into  her  lap. 

"You  see,"  he  said,  "that  my  estimates  are 
more  civil  than  yours.  Is  it  the  Adriatic  you  are 
thinking  of?  Your  eyes  look  at  least  as  far  away 
as  that." 

"I  was  thinking,"  Anne  replied  softly,  "of 
the  old  yellow  sun-dial  there  in  our  garden  at  the 
villa,  and  of  the  inscription  round  it : 

««  '  L'  amor  che  muove  51  sol  e  1'  altre  stelle.' 

I  wonder  if  that  is  not  the  legend  over  the  gates 
of  Paradise." 


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